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Seventy Years in Dixie. 



Recollections, Sermons and Sayings 



-OF- 



T. W. CASKEY AND OTHERS, 



-BY- 



. ^ l-^ F. E>. SRYOLEY, 

3 / 

Associate editor of "The Gospel Advocate " and "The Youth's 
Advocate," and author of "Larimore and His Boys," etc., etc. 



■'F COAfr>? 






Nashville, Tennessee : 

GOSPEL ADVOCATE PUBLISHING CO., 

1891. 



Tz 






DEDICATION. 



To my mother and my wife, who have been my best helpers, 
wisest counsellors and most charitable critics in every laudable 
ambition, this volume is most affectionately inscribed. 

The Author. 



Copyright, 1891, 
r. D. Srygley. 



PREFACE. 

Since the days of early childhood, I have eagerly listened to the 
life-story of every one who has been willing to confide in me. In this 
particular, I have been " no respecter of persons." I have given in- 
terested and impartial attention to all sorts, ages and sizes of men 
and women, as they told the stories of their lives in their own 
way. I have listened to old men and young men, sick men and 
well men, wise men and foolish men, good men and bad men, rich 
men and poor men, married men and single men, town men and 
country men, free men and bond men, serious men and funny men, 
religious men and worldly men, white men and black men, drunk 
men and sober men. It did not occur to me when I was listening to 
all those strange life-stories, that I was accumulating a fund of un- 
classified information, which, in due course of time, would ooze out 
of me upon a defenceless public, in the form of a book like this, 
"but such is life." In gratifying an abnormal curiosity, I simply ac- 
cumulated more facts than an over-burdened memory could retain or 
a feeble intellect could digest. The only remedy, so far as I could 
see, was to disgorge my over-loaded mind of this mass of unprofit- 
able information, in the form of a volume like this. This is my ex- 
planation and apology for imposing another book upon the public. 

If I thought that readers would find as much pleasure in the 
perusal of this volume, as I enjoyed in gathering up the information 
which it contains, I would count myself as one of the popular authors 
of the nineteenth century, in advance, and advise my publishers to 
bring out a large edition of the book— at their own risk and without 
any expense to me ! 

I know not what estimate a discriminating public may put upon 
this volume, but it is a relief to me to rid my mind of the matter 
which these pages contain, anyhow. I have meditated upon the 
strange stories here given to the public, many an hour when I ought 
to have been engaged in better business. I have, at times, reflected 
upon the marvelous changes that have taken place in this queer 
world within the memory of those yet living, till my head would 
positively grow dizzy, and I would, for the moment, feel utterly lost 

(3) 



4 PREFA CE. 

in the rapidly changing scenes through which my mind was wander- 
ing. 

Some philosophers say that, if a man would be happy, he must live 
in harmony with his environments. But, in view of the marvelous 
changes which have taken place during the last seventy years, it 
would seem that the man who seeks happiness according to such 
philosophy would have a hard race, to keep pace with his environ- 
ments. Indeed, it is difficult for any man, in such times of rapid 
mutations, to know what his environments are. To try to under- 
stand your environments in such an age, is like an effort to study the 
geography and topography of a country by looking out of the win- 
dow of an express train, as you dash along at the rate of sixty miles 
an hour. Your head becomes dizzy, and you soon conclude that en- 
vironments change so rapidly that it is impossible to fully understand 
them, if, indeed, you have any at all. 

He is not a philosopher who would seek happiness by an effort to 
put himself in harmony with such rapidly changing environments. 
If there be any truth in the phylosophy, the environments with 
which we must harmonize in order to find happiness, must be some- 
thing less changeable than the fads, fancies, customs and sentiments of 
this fickle age and generation. To seek happiness by a hard race to 
keep pace with such environments, is to act the folly of the discon- 
tented slaves of fast life, who always make haste to worship at the 
shrine of the latest gods of fashion. There is no real happiness along 
that route. The peace which passeth understanding must come from 
anchoring the soul to something more sure and steadfast. To put it 
all in the fewest words possible, the nearest way, and the only way, 
to true happiness is stated in this one sentence : "Thou shalt love the 
Lord thy God with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with 
all thy mind; and thy neighbor as thyself." These two things are 
the same, and must ever remain the same, in all ages, among all peo- 
ples, and under all circumstances. And, " On these two command- 
ments hang all the law and the prophets." 

There is no fiction in this book. It is mainly the story 
of the life of Mr. Caskey, but such things as are not parts of the 
story of his life, are, nevertheless, real incidents in the lives of other 
veritable persons. 

My young friend, J. D. Kelley, of Nashville, Tennessee, is entitled 
to all the credit for illustrating the book. AVhatever merit there may 
be in the pictures, both in the matter of their conception and the 
manner of their execution, is due wholly to his genius. 

I indulge the hope that the reader will, at least, be able to wliile 



PREFACE, 5 

away a few hours in the perusal of this volume. And I have failed 
to accomplish the object on which my heart was chiefly set in the 
preparation of the book, if there are not passages in it which will 
draw the reader's heart into closer sympathy with suffering humanity. 

Finally, I beg to suggest that the changes portrayed in the book, 
and the blindness manifested by the wisest of men in grappling with 
problems that solved themselves, in due course of time,^contrary to 
all the theories, plans and philosophies of would-be leaders— all these 
things ouglit to convince us that there is a wisdom above man, and 
superior to all men combined, that guides the world in its progress. 
If I can but fix this thought firmly in the mind of one of the hum- 
blest denizens of earth, I shall consider the labor of preparing the 
book well spent. F. D. Srygley. 

Nashville, Tennessee, March 1, 1891. 



INDEX. 



An Old-time Meeting 15 

An Old Backslider 23 

Apostolic Christianity 27 

A Remarkable Memory 35 

An Old-fashioned Cradle 39 

A Flash in the Pan 57 

A Spang Up Nag 65 

Attacked by Wolves 71 

A Dark Night 73 

A Cash Wedding 81 

A Fashionable Costume 101 

A Ludicrous Performance 105 

An Abridged Animal 115 

A Contented People 123 

A Bridal Tour 125 

Authority of the Scriptures 229 

An Experience Meeting 136 

A Good Experience 237 

An Old-fashioned Postmaster 249 

An Old-fashioned Blacksmith 265 

A Plea for Kindness 271 

A Shrewd Negro 281 

Amusement Among Slaves 299 

Armed for the Conflict 347 

A Chaplain's Difficulties 351 

A Wounded Soldier 357 

After the War 359 

A Few Words of Explanation 399 

B 

Black Mammies 41 

Blood Hounds After Negroes 279 

By Her Grave 49 

(6) 



INDEX. 7 

C 

Coon Skins 79 

Carding and Spinning 95 

Clearing Land 127 

Clearing by Fire-light 175 

Called to Preach 207 

Cam^D-meeting Holy Ghost 225 

Crime and Ignorance 285 

Conservative Negroes 303 

'Coon's Head and Polk Salad 331 

Confusion and Controversy 373 

Christ and Modern Churches 377 

D 

Doom of the Eich 29 

Daniel Boon's Gun 55 

Divine Call to Preach 191 

Dividing Families.. 255 

Divine Providence 291-369 

Dignity and Discipline 317 

Desolation and Kuin 361 

E 

Enjoying Life 67 

Eating a Cat 117 

Earnestness in the Pulpit 211 

Evidences of Calls to Preach 231 

Enrolling Volunteers 341 

F 

Forests and Cane-brakes 53 

Fire Alarm 137 

Fine Houses 141 

Fire Insurance 155 

Funeral Congregations 197 

Filth and Ignorance 289 

From Magnificence to Misery 363 

G 

Good Morals 239 

Good Manners 312 

God s Wisdom and Man's Foolishness 375 

God's Providence Over Moses and Israel 387 



8 INDEX, 

H 

Happy Sundays 45 

Household Furniture 121 

House liaising ]31 

Hewing Logs I39 

How Negroes were Fed 959 

How Runaway Negroes Lived 277 

How Slaves Made Money 301 

Honor Among Gamblers 313 

Hard Times in Dixie 321 

How to reach the Masses 379 

I 

Improved Machinery 169 

Independence and Self-respect 319 

J 

Job's Afflictions 37 

Johnny Cakes 83 

John Loony's Meshkit 329 

Jewish Slaveiy 395 

K 

Kissing Parties 97 

Kindness to Slaves 295 

L 

Log-rolling 129 

Log Cabins 133 

Licentiousness Among Slaves 275 

Love for the Blue and the Gray 355 

M 

Must Gum It 107 

My First Breeches Ill 

Making Soft Soap '. 147 

Marks of the Tomahawk 159 

Messages From the Dead 189 

Moving to Mississippi 267 

Milder Forms of Slavery 293 

Magnificent Homes 305 

Misery in the Mountains 328 

Men and Gentlemen 343 

Manufacturing Industries 367 

Man's Wickedness and God's Glory 397 



INDEX. 9 

Moses as a Law-giver 389 

Moses as a Military Chieftain 391 

Moses Yet Lives 393 

N 

New-fashioned Pastors 21 

Negroes and Mules 171 

New Doctrines 233 

Negroes and Cotton 251 

Negro Patriotism 259 

Negro Courts 273 

Narrow Bottoms Make Narrow Men 327 



Old-fashioned Songs 17 

Old-fashioned Preachers 19 

Old Times in Dixie 51 

Old Andy's Speech 63 

Old Cards for Hair-brushes 93 

Old-time Farming 163 

Old-time Threshers 167 

Old-time Funerals 187 

Openin' Meetin' 199 

Orthodoxy 243 

P 

Pastoral Visiting 25 

Presbyterian Dread » 89 

Pewter Plates 113 

Pilgrims On a Spree 185 

Preacliing Folks to Hell 195 

Predestination and Funerals 201 

Personal Service in Religion 209 

Paying the Preacher 213 

Putting in the Dousement 241 

Punisliment of Crime. 263 

Poverty and Ignorance 287 

Preaching to Slaves 297 

Pleasure Trips 307 

Patriotism of the South 337 

Pure Motives 339 

Progression and Conservatism 371 

Q 

Quilting 153 



10 INDEX. 

E 

Eevival Excitement 217 

Runaway Negroes 276 

Running tlie Line 323 

S 

Southern Life 31 

Slie Hung Fire 59 

Scalped by Indians 69 

Sunday Shoes 103 

Sassafras Tea 119 

Shooting Matches 173 

Supporting the Gospel 176 

Strange Texts 193 

Singing Schools 215 

Statesmen and Politicians 309 

Southern Hospitality 315 

Secession and the AVar 333 

Story of the War 350 

Southern Enterprise 365 

Slow Progress of Machinery 245 

T 

The Shorter Catechism 33 

The Old Daddies 43 

The Deserted Cabin 47 

The Old Mountaineers 61 

The Rail Splitter 77 

Troubled Lovers 85 

The Bark Gatherers 87 

The AVinter Hoe-down 99 

The Fighting Gobbler 109 

The Hard Work of Woman 144 

The Old Washing Place 145 

The Old Ash-hopper 149 

The Wilderness 161 

The Old Bar-share 162 

Temperance Work 177 

The Temptation 181 

The Fall 183 

The Jerks 231 

Tearing Down the Altar 275 

The Soldiers Good-bye 349 

The Heretics 227 



I 

INDEX. 11 

The First Railroad 247 

The Period of Slavery 253 

The Old " Ferginny " Home 257 

The Grandeur of Institutions 261 

The Race Problem 284 

The Code of Honor 311 

The Mason and Dixon Line 325 

The Soldiers' Ball 345 

Trouble for the Boys in Gray 353 

Two Errors \ 376 

The World Unseen 381 

The Power of Faith 383 

W 

Why I Was Born 32 

Wolf Traps "5 

AVoman's AVork 91 

AVooden Chimneys 135 

AVhip-Saws 143 

Whisky in the Church 179 

Whipped the AVrong Negro 282 

What the South Fought For 335 



INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. 



A 

AHasty Retreat 118 

A Primitive Saw Mill 142 

A- huntin' Seed Peas 199 

Administered the Punishment Themselves. 273 

An Unclean Fountain 285 

A Country Home . ., 305 

A Duel " 308 

After the A7ar 360 

A Ruined Home 362 

An Aristocratic Dray Driver 363 

A Roarin' Fire 72 

A Wheel 96 

B 

Bound for the Land of Cotton 251 

Bound for the Bottoms 268 

Breaking up a Horse Race 313 

Belles and Volunteers 342 

By Her Grave in the Woods 49 

C 

Corn-shucking 150 

Cutting Wheat With a Cradle 169 

Clearing Land By Night 174 

Clergyman's Suit , 191 

Camp-meeting at Night 217 

Couldn't Tell Clover From Sneeze Weed 23 

Cotton Bolls 298 

Carding 91 

D 

Damnable Hearsay 194 

Dangerous Weapon 346 

F 

Fast Through Freight 246 

Fishers of Men 26 

(12) 



IXDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. 



13 



248 

Fast Mail ' ' * 55 

Flint and Steel ^ ^ ^ 282 

Fotch Dis Yere Note ...'.'.*.*. ^79 

Fractional Currency 

^ 196 

Going to the Funeral ^^g 

Going to the Funeral to Swap Horses ^^ 

Gently Pvocked the Young Hopeful 

" . 279 
Hunting a Runaway Negro '^ ^„ 

How Firm a Foundation. 259 

Hard on the Negroes "n^Q 

How do You Know that's North? 

I 

... 81 
Fve Got the 'Coon Skins 

128 

Log Rolling • • • • 300 

Listening to Ole Missus Read the Bihle 

M 

266 

My Trade was a Fortune ^g 

Mounted on his Old Pony ' ^^^ 

Mountaineers on the AVar Path • * ^^ 

Meal-making Machinery 

N 

290 
Napoleon Crossing the Alps -^^^ 

No More Interesting Couple Could he Found ^^ 

No Use fur the Infernal Town 



60 
One of the Old Land Marks •* ^^^^^ 

On Came the Foe - * ^^ 

Old Cards 

P 

^ , 117 

Parson, this Thing was a Cat ^^^ 

Picking Cotton -|^q3 

Putting On Sunday Shoes 

loo 

Quilting 

R 

166 

Reap Hook 277 

Runaway Negro Stealing Chickens 



14 INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Eeception at an Aristocratic Country Home 318 

'Eah for American Liberty 337 

S 

Sorter Sqiiar' Like 115 

She Spootered an' Sputtered 57 

Souls Without a Care 258 

Sh'prise My Old 'Oman 330 

Social Monopoly of Volunteers 344 

T 

The Money Was Counted 179 

The Fighting Parson 352 

The Old 'Oman's Out'n Camphor 181 

The Blue and the Gray 357 

The Second Ballot 183 

They Started to School 364 

The Race Problem 287 

The New South 366 

Their Own Cotton , 302 

The Politician's Dream 367 

The Old Way of Building Up a Church 19 

Turned Upside Down 36 

Tower of Strength 89 

AV 

We Dined in State 112 

We Built Hewed Log Houses 139 

We're on Our Journey Home 185 

AValking Toward the Church With My Sweetheart 43 

Walked Beside His Sweetheart 101 



CHAPTER I. 



AN OLD-TIME MEETING. 

I attended a religious convention many years ago, 
which, as well as I now remember, was called a Christian 
State Meeting. It assembled in a little inland Southern 
town, and was largely attended by the brethren from the 
rural districts. There were but few railroads in the South 
then. Fort Worth, Texas was but a village of a few 
hundred inhabitants, Dallas was scarcely more than a 
country town, and Birmingham, Alabama was not so 
much as named till many years afterwards. 

I may not have the name of that old-time annual 
gathering of Christians exactly right, but no matter. 
It was not a corporate body or a chartered institution 
anyhow, and though it assembled every year, it could 
hardly be said to have "a local habitation" or "a 
name." It was neither an organized body nor an 
authoritative convention. It assumed no preroga- 
tives over Christians or churches; neither did it at- 
tempt to settle any question of doctrine, or, inaug- 
urate any form of ecclesiasticism. It was simply an 
undenominational mass meeting of Christians. Those 
in attendance were, in the main, preachers, but still 
there were women and laymen enough to give variety 
to the assembly. Those who were present came not as 
delegates from churches, neither did they claim to rep- 
resent anybody but themselves in the meeting. To use 
the phraseology of the time and country, every man 
" went on his own hook." They assembled, not as del- 
CIS) 



16 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

egates with "letters of authority," but as brethren. 
Each one brought into the meeting his own ideas and 
zeal, and from the conglomeration of individuaUty every 
man filled himself with such things as were congenial 
to his nature, just as men do at a picnic or a barbecue. 
The meeting had a chairman, whose principal duty 
seemed to be to tell the audience when to pray, what 
to sing and when to adjourn. The chairman also en- 
joyed a good joke or a sally of wit, and at all proper 
times he pitched the fun and led the laugh for the con- 
vention. He also had a tender heart and a loving soul, 
and many a time did he lead the audience in a gush of 
religious pathos or pious tears. He had no committees 
to appoinj^ and no questions of parliamentary usage to 
settle. Every body was all the time in a good humor, 
and no body ever got out of order. It was simply a 
revival, a prayer-meeting, a love-feast, a social gather- 
ing and an experience meeting all in one. The chair- 
man was a privileged character. In fact the}^ were all 
privileged characters. He would stop the proceedings 
of the convention to tell a funny story, and then every 
body would laugh. At another time he would be moved 
to relate a pathetic incident — his voice would grow 
tremulous with emotion, tears w^ould gather in his eyes 
and flow freely down his radiant cheeks, his lips would 
tremble, his speech would fail — and then sobs and sighs 
would be heard in all parts of the vast assembly. Again, 
he would announce a song, and everybody in the audi- 
ence would join in the singing with a strength of voice 
and earnestness of expression which would put profes- 
sional city choirs to shame. 

The songs they sang were, for the most part, old and 
familiar words set to simple melodies. Everybody knew 
the words, and anybody could sing the tunes. "Amaz- 



OLD-FAt^IIIoyED SOXG^. 




18 SEVEXTY YEAIIS IN DIXIE. 

ing grace, how sweet the sound," was a favorite with 
them all, and " On Jordan's stormy hanks I stand," was 
scarcely less popular. "Am I a soldier of the cross,'' 
was in great demand, and " How firm a foundation " 
was never tahooed. The exercises were varied, hut al- 
ways religious and deeply earnest. They sang, and 
prayed, and preached, and exhorted, and discussed ques- 
tions, and told then^ experiences. 

The preachers in attendance were, in the main, a 
cheaply-dressed, hard-worked, poorly-paid, saddle-hags 
crowd of earnest, God-loving, Bihle-helieving, self-sac- 
rificing men. There were hut few rich and fashionahle 
churches in the country then. Hence, town-preachers 
and city pastors were conspicuous for their absence in 
that great meeting. There was hut one "plug" hat in 
all that assembly, and it was worn hy the president of a 
college who was there from a distance on a business trip 
in the interest of his school. And ^^et there was no 
lack of native ability or scholarly attainments on the 
part of the preachers in that meeting. Mau}^ of them 
were graduates from good colleges and universities in 
older States, and not a few of them were masters of a 
style of vigorous and pathetic orator}^ that would have 
commanded the attention and aroused the emotions of 
cold and formal city audiences, who had nodded and 
shivered for years under the methodical logic and soul- 
less rhetoric of automatic pastors, who claimed a higher 
order of culture than the preachers in that meeting 
ever aspired to. 

Those preachers were men long used to the incon- 
veniences and hardships of country life. It required 
men of strong native ability and impressive delivery to 
succeed as preachers in this country in those days. The 
idea that old and cultured countries require a higher order 



OLD-FASHIONED PllEACIIERS. 



19 



of talent than new countries, to insure success in pulpit 
work, is a mistake. In old countries, where society is 

mmMm 



. A 




well organized, church- 
es are p e r p e t u a t e d 
largely by inheritance. 
Children accept the 
doctrine and join the 
church of their parents, 
)ecause that is gen- 
erally conceded to be 
the proper thing for 
them to do. The abil- 
ity of the preacher 
and the plausibility of 
the creed 



are things 




f V twv ' V^ii "i \ \'- } ' i ^ ' ii' i U ^Virt^-iiV^-it^in-«^ 



THE OLD AVAY OF BUILDING UP A CHURCH. 

of little moment. In old countries, churches gain 
more by generation tlian by regeneration. Xot so in a 
new country 



There are no established churches or 



20 SEVEXTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

social castes in new countries. Preachers are not back- 
ed by old prejudices or time-worn traditions in their 
work. They stand upon their merits, and they must 
build upon the convictions of their hearers. Their only 
hope of success is in the strength of their case. Their 
doctrine must be plausible, and their style, both convinc- 
ing and persuasive, or they will inevitably fail. 

Preachers in such a country as this was in those early 
days are at still another disadvantage. The people who 
moved to this country in those days did not come, as 
a rule, to seek religion. Whatever else may have 
prompted them to come here, it is safe to say it was 
not particularly an interest in religious subjects. An 
incident in the mass meeting referred to will illustrate 
the difference between the old way and the new, in 
religious work and worship. It will show how far the 
methods relied on, to establish and build up churches in 
the early days of a country, differ from the plans adopt- 
ed, in religious Avork,by people Avho are further advanced 
in the ways of fashionable society. 

There was one typical pastor in that meeting. Ele- 
gantly dressed, dignified in bearing, fluent in speech 
and polished in manner, he was certainly " a thing of 
beauty" if not " a joy forever." He was as much out 
of harmony Avith his environments as a daisy in a des- 
ert, and he evidently felt that he was a harbinger of 
refinement crying in the wilderness of barbarism. He 
had done service as a city pastor in other States, and he 
came into that meeting as a sort of missionary of re- 
finement, to prepare the way for aesthetic taste in the 
worship of God. He had a sickly little pastorate, in an 
ambitious little town, and those of his flock, who ac- 
companied him to the meeting, felt justly proud of his 
good clothes and stately airs. One day he delivered a 



NEW-FASHIONED PASTOR. 21 

set speech to the meeting on the subject, " How to build 
up a church." He Uiid special emphasis upon the 
social qualities of a pastor, as an element of success in 
building up a cliurch. In his characteristically attrac- 
tive style, he told the convention that a minister ought to 
be a good "mixer;" he explained the advantages of 
pastoral visiting from house to house ; he emphasized 
the importance of personal acquaintance with every 
member of every household ; he insisted that the preacher 
ought to be a favorite with all the children ; he urged 
that the pastor should carefully cultivate the friendship of 
young people ; he showed that it w^as important for the 
pastor to keep himself and his church well to the front in 
all benevolent enterprises, public gatherings, temper- 
ance movements and social festivals. And, last of all, he 
showed how necessary it was for a preacher to cultivate 
the' acquaintance and friendship of leading families in 
the bounds of his charge, and, to visit regularly all the 
members of his church, especially those who seemed 
cold and indifferent as to their religious duties. 

When the young pastor took his seat, an aged man 
of dignified bearing and confident air took the floor, to 
express his convictions as to " How to build up a church." 
He was tall, slender, long-limbed, limber-jointed, frail- 
bodied and angularly-shaped. His nose hooked over 
his capacious mouth in a way that suggested penetra- 
tive inquisitiveness, and he hooked the front finger of 
his right hand over the little finger of .his left, as if fas- 
tening the subject down for dissection after the manner 
of a saw log in a lumber mill. He spoke with impres- 
sive earnestness and in a well modulated voice. As well 
as I can reproduce his speech, by the help of copious 
notes, taken at the time, it was as follows : 

" I beg leave to difier from the brother who has pre- 



22 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

ceded me on this question. What I understand to be 
of greatest importance as an element of success in build- 
ing up a church, he has entirely over-looked, or design- 
edly ignored. I refer to the material of which churches 
are composed, and the manner in which that material is 
brought into the churches. There are certain kinds of 
people in the church, who have been brought into it by 
certain kinds of schemes, who cannot be kept in it with- 
out some man eternally trotting at their heels. "When 
I hnd such stock as that in a church which I am preach- 
ing for, I give them plainly to understand, that, if they 
haven't religion enough to come out to the Lord's house 
and worship their God, without being driven up every 
Sunday like a parcel of stray cattle, they may jump 
over the fence and starve to death in the wilderness. 
Brethren, I'm not coming down from intellectual work 
in the pulpit, to make a common herd-boy out of my- 
self. If I must do such work as that, I will quit preach- 
ing and hire out to some man to herd sheep or cows. 
Church members who cannot be brought out to the 
house of the Lord, except by pastoral visitations, are not 
w^orth standing room in a potter's field anyhow. I have 
recently had some valuable experience myself in pas- 
toral visiting. I tried it, in a sickly little church 
in a fashionable town. I tramped the streets through 
dust and heat for three miserable days, hunting for 
the lost sheep of the house of Israel. I w^as as- 
sured that the Lord had some stray sheep in that 
God-forsaken town, but, after searching the place 
diligently, I found only one old wanderer on the moun- 
tains of sin, wild and bare, and he had grazed on the 
devil's commons till he couldn't tell clover from sneeze 
weed. He had lost his bell, shed his fleece and herded 
with the goats till he wasn't Avorth driving home. 



AX OLD BACKSLIDER. 



23 



Brctlu-cn, let me speak freely about tliis professional 
pastoral visiting, as a moans of building up a cburch. 
The sick and tlie poor, the troubled and tlie distressed, 






Mil \i\/vju nZ/^^'^'v^ 




''couldn't tell clover from sneeze weed." 
the fatherless and widows, in their affliction, ought to be 
isitcd, not only hy the pastor, hnt hy all the saints. ^ o 



VI SI 

one IS r 



oadier than I to encourage 



and practice such 



24 si: vent y years in dixie. 

visiting. But tliis is an entirely different thing from 
professional pastoral visiting, sucli as we are advised to 
depend upon, to build up tlie cliurcli. I do not believe 
that a church can be built up in any such way. lumbers 
may be added to its membership, but can you increase 
the zeal, deepen the piety, or strengthen the faith, of 
members in that way ? I think not. Those who love 
God and walk by faith, in the religious life, do not 
gauge their zeal in the church by the personal popular- 
ity or Miiixing' qualities of the preacher. If I have 
studied the Bible to any profit, it teaches us to rely upon 
the gospel as 'the power of God unto salvation.' Pas- 
toral visiting and clerical clap-trap may popularize a 
church and till it with the irreligious and worldly-mind- 
ed, but such things will neither convert sinners nor add 
to the spirituality of the worship. ' God is a spirit, and 
they that worship him must worship him in spirit and 
in truth.' If you can convert sinners and build up 
churches by humoring spiritual Aveaklings and flatter- 
ing simpering sentimentalists, in pastoral visiting, with- 
out preaching the gospel, you may as well throw away 
the Bible, get a fashionable preacher and rent hell out 
for a calf pasture. People who attend the meetings of 
the saints from the love of the pastor, and who neglect their 
religious duties unless they are coddled by the pastor, 
have neither faith nor -piety, and their pretended wor- 
ship is but a hollow mockery which will militate against 
the piety of any church and prove a stench in the nos- 
trils of our God. Without faith it is impossible to 
please God. It is every man's inalienable right, as well 
as indispensable duty, to study the Bible for himself and 
to formulate his own faith from the teaching of the 
Bible. The Bible is a revelation from God, made, not 
to priests, pastors or councils, to be interpreted and 



PASTORAL VISITING. '^'> 

handed out to the people, but to each individual soul, 
with no mediator between the soul and its God save the 
Lord Jesus Christ. Sinners are justified by fiuth, and 
s'dnts walk l)y taith, but the faith that justifies the one 
and leads the other is not a mere admiration for the 
pastor or his church. It is faith which, Paul says comes 
by hearing and hearing by the word of God The man 
who studies the word of God carefully for himself, and 
who forms thereby a faith which works by love and 
purifies the heart, is a Christian, a disciple ot Christ 
He has been defivered from the powers of darkness and 
translated into the kingdom of God's dear Son. ihe 
idea that such a Christian will absent himself irom the 
assembly of saints, or grow indifierent as to other reli- 
2:ious duties, or privileges, simply because the pastor does 
not call around regularly, to kiss his baby and gossip 
with his wife, is contrary to reason and an insult to 
common sense. The efiort to build up the church by 
clerical schemes and pastoral visits has always diverted 
attention from the importance of fidth which works might- 
ily in the heart by love to the saving ol souls. In every 
age it has, when followed to its logical result, led to a 
greater effort to build fine houses and strong organiza- 
tions, than to convert sinners or save souls The his- • 
tory of religion shows that the efiort of an organized, 
professional ministry in the CathoHc hierarchy has al- 
ways been to save the church and let the devil take the 
sinners. Professional pastors, in that iniquituous system, 
have, indeed, been fishers of men, in all ages of the world, 
but they have always cast their nets and baited their 
hooks for such men as they thought could give most 
money and social prestige towards supporting the min- 
istry and building up the church. Hence, there has al- 
ways been more joy, among such clergymen, over one 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



(lives, who walks stiiF-neckcd and unconverted into the 



oro:anization, than over 
ninety - and - nine peni- 
tent Lazarnses, who are 
truly converted to the 
saving of their souls. 
Let us beware how we 
infringe upon primitive 
Christianity, in adopt- 
ing the plans and poli- 




Ml' 





"jiMi 







'' FISHERS OF MEN. 

icies of Eome. Let us beware lest we, also, exalt money 
and social influence above piety and humble devotion 



APOSTOLIC CHEISTIANITY. 27 

in the cliurcli. Such a policy may build costly houses, 
sustain fashionable choirs and attract the frivolous and 
ungodly, but it will never convert sinners or maintain a 
spiritual worship in the church. True faith to-day is 
the same as in apostolic times, and will bear the same 
fruit. Paul says, Moses, by faith, ' refused to be called 
the son of Pharaoh's daughter, choosing rather to suf- 
fer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the 
pleasures of sin for a season.' 'And what shall I more 
say, for tim.e would fail me to tell of Gideon and of Barak, 
and of Samson, and of Jepthah; of David also, and 
Samuel, and the prophets ; who, through faith, subdued 
kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, 
stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of 
fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness 
were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to 
flight the armies of the aliens. "Women received their 
dead raised to life again, and others were tormented, not 
accepting deliverance, that they might obtain the bet- 
ter resurrection. And others had trials of cruel mock- 
ings and scourging, yea, moreover of bonds and im- 
prisonments. They were stoned, they Avere sawn asun- 
der, were tempted, were slain with the sword. They 
wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being des- 
titute, afflicted, tormented. ^ >f= * They wandered 
in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of 
the earth.' It may be claimed that some of these glorious 
achievements of faith in olden times were miraculous, and 
that, therefore, such tilings are not to be expected, as the 
fruits of faith, in these modern days. This is readily grant- 
ed. But, touching all the ordinary fruits of faith, it is claim- 
ed that those who liave the same faith now, will manifest it 
in the same way, and to the same extent, and this will 
build up the church now infinitely better and faster than 



28 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

pastoral visiting and organized routine work. Did the 
church prosper in those early days of Christianity ? 
Great multitudes were obedient to the faith, and, not- 
withstanding the persecutions wdiich afflicted the saints 
in every nation, the church flourished as it has never 
flourished in any other age. It even passed into a pro- 
verb, ' that the blood of the martyrs has become the seed 
of the church.' Were those saints of old humored, and 
petted, and flattered, and coddled by the professional 
visits of pastors, who prided themselves on being good 
' mixers,' to get them to assemble for worship in caves 
and dens of the earth at midnight's secret hour ? Were 
churches then built up by the popularity of pastors, the 
artistic performance of godless choirs, the imposing ap- 
pearance of costly houses of worship, the wealth and 
social position of leading members, or the worldly at- 
tractions of the services? Ah, no. Those w^ere the 
blessed days when sinners were converted and saints 
controlled by faith. Those were the days when the poor 
had the gospel preached to them. The church put no 
premium upon wealth in those days. Those who started 
out to seek the kingdom of heaven were glad enough 
to distribute their worldly possessions in good v/orks, 
for they were given to understand, in very plain words, 
at the very out- set, that wealth was an incumbrance 
which eftectually and forever barred the gates of 
heaven against them. The call was then to those who 
labored and were heavily laden. The blessing w^as upon 
the poor in spirit, who humbled themselves before the 
Lord. The command was to go out into the highways 
and compel the poor to come to the gospel feast. The 
rich, the proud and the self-righteous were i3ut aside. 
' It is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, 
than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.' 



DOOM OF THE RICH. 29 

'Ye ricli men, weep and howl for 3^our miseries tliat 
shall come upon you. Your riches are corrupted and 
your garments moth-eaten. Your gold and silver is 
cankered; and the rust of them shall he a witness 
against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye 
have heaped treasures together for the last days. * ^-^^ 
"^^ Ye have lived in pleasure on the earth, and been 
wanton ; Ye have nourished your liearts as in a day of 
slaughter.' Ah, brethren, the saints of God had deep 
convictions and soul-moving love for God and for each 
other in those days. With such convictions, and such 
faith, and such love to-day, they will build up churches 
and convert sinners all over this broad land. The best 
Avay to build up a church, therefore, is to return to the 
apostolic order of preaching and worship." 

By enquiring, I learned that the speaker, who delivered 
this remarkable address on ' pastoral visiting,' was 
Thomas W. Caskey, of Mississippi. His speech was, to 
my mind, the most impressive part of the whole con- 
vention. In fact it is about the only speech of the con- 
vention that I can clearly remember now, after the lapse of 
many years. I was introduced to Mr. Caskey then, and 
our acquaintance soon ripened into close, confidential 
friendship. He is now in his seventy-fifth year, and I 
consider him, in many respects, one of the most unique 
characters the South has ever produced. He has a dis- 
tinct recollection of men and things extending back to 
1820, and he has been connected in some way with al- 
most everything of importance in the history of the 
South for more than half a century. Born of poor 
parents and brought up under all the disadvantages of 
frontier life, he gradually worked his way upward 
through all the grades of society, to a position in the 
first circle of Southern aristocracy before the war. He 



30 SEVENTY YEARS IN DINIE. 

has been a blacksmith, farmer, preacher, politician and 
soldier. As a laborer, he helped to clear away the prim- 
itive forests, in the days when the country was sparsely 
populated, and infested w^itli all manner of wild beasts. 
He has lived in the cabins of the poor in pioneer days ; 
he has moved in the highest circles of aristocratic socie- 
ty in times of Southern magnificence. He "stump- 
ed" the State of Mississippi as a politician, in the great 
political excitement of 1860; and followed the "lost 
cause" to its grave in the last ditch. For many years 
he was the personal friend of the late Jefferson Davis, 
and he loved him as a friend to the day of his death. 
He flourished as a Southern planter in possession of a 
magnificent cotton plantation in Mississippi, in the 
famous times of Southern prosperity before the war, and 
he suffered, with the rest of the people of the South, 
through the weary period of ruin and desolation, which 
was the common lot of every part of the Southern 
country during the years which immediately succeeded 
the war. To use his own unique words, he has 
been "on all sides of the world — on the top side 
and the bottom side, the good side and the bad side, the 
hard side and the soft side, the right side and the wrong 
side." The story of his life is the history of almost 
every phase of the Southern country and people during 
the last seventy years. 

I have tried to gather the fragments of the true life- 
story of this remarkable man, and in the following 
chapters I give the result of my labors. 

Much that I give was written by him, and appears 
here in almost the exact form of his original manuscript. 
Parts of the story I have reproduced from my own 
recollection of conversations, speeches, sermons, lectures 
and addresses I have heard from him. In some places 



SOUTHERN LIFE. 31 

I have stated facts and incidents from my own expe- 
rience and observation, by way of more fnlly bringing 
out the history of some peculiar phase of Southern life, 
in connection with the story of his hfe. So, the follow- 
ing chapters may be described as seventy years of 
Southern Kfe-history, embracing the various stages and 
phases of material development and social customs, 
as compiled from the combined experiences, observations 
and recollections of Thomas W. Caskey and myself. 

Throughout the book, I have thought best to use the 
first person, vdiich gives the story the form of a personal 
narative. This is a mere matter of taste and convenience, 
and should not confuse the reader. Let it be under- 
stood, once for all, that it is a single, continuous, per- 
sonal narative in form only. As to the fads^ they are 
taken from the stories of several lives — still, they are 
facts, nevertheless. 



CHAPTER 11. 



WHY I WAS BORN. 

To begin at the beginning of the story of my life, I 
am reliably informed that I was born in Maury county, 
Tennessee, January 12, 1816. I am compelled to rely 
upon the statement of others for this bit of information, 
for, good as my memory is, I confess that I have no 
well-delined, recollection of that, to me, important event. 
The reader may consider my birth a matter of very 
small moment, anyway, but it is an event in which I 
have always felt a profound interest. Without it, I 
never could have amounted to much in this world, no 
matter how much energy and perseverance I may have 
manifested. And yet, I cannot say, positively, that it 
has been a very great blessing to me, after all. Only 
the light of eternity and the righteous judgment of God, 
can determine whether the world is the better and I will 
be the happier, in the great hereafter that ever I was born. 

Not only is my memory blank, as to when and where 
I was born, but I have no distinct recollection as to why 
that event ever occurred, to mark an epoch in my 
wild career. I frankly confess that I have no well-de- 
lined idea, to this good day, as to why I vras born, though 
I have been studying that question, off and on, ever 
since the early days of my childhood, Avhen my Presby- 
terian father began to teach me the Shorter Catechism. 
The language of that old relic of defunct theology, 
which my father always insisted was an explanation of 
why I was born, was, in substance, "that man's chief 
(32) 



THE SHORTER CATECHISM. 33 

end is to glorify God and enjoy liim forever." I confess 
that the connection between that statement and the 
reason I was born, was never at all clear to my childish 
mind. In my childish way of thinking, I remember 
how I puzzled my brain over this grave, theological 
problem. I would say, over and over, to myself, " If 
man's chief end is to glorify God, I wonder what his 
other end is for ? " I would think, and think, and think, 
till my little head would ache, and my poor little moth- 
erless heart would grow heavy and sad with the burden 
of my troubles, but still I could not see a single ray of 
light, or hear a whisper of love, to guide my weary soul 
through all the deep, dark mysteries such questions and 
answers, in the catechism, opened up all around me. 
Why was my hungry soul fed on such dry crusts of 
speculative theology, when my little heart, which had 
never tasted the sweets of a mother's affection, was lit- 
erally starving for a whisper of tenderness and love ? 
Why did they not tell me plainly and simply, that Jesus 
loved little children, and said, suffer them "to come 
unto me, and forbid them not : for of such is the king- 
dom of God? " Why did they not tell me, without any 
catechetical foolishness about it, that the loving Savior 
took the blessed little children "up in his arms, put 
his hands upon them, and blessed them ? " There would 
have been comfort, joy and peace, to my lonely, 
troubled soul, in such precious words as these. I could 
liave loved, and I would have delighted to serve, such a 
blessed Savior as this, if he had been offered to me in 
his own tender nature, without the hard questions and 
deep mysteries set forth in the catechism. But I had 
no time to think about Jesus and his love. I had to 
learn what the catechism said about the chief end of 
man. And finally I began to say to myself: " I won- 
3 



34 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

der whicli end of a man is his chief end, anyhow." And 
the next time I appeared before my austere father, 
to recite my lesson in the catechism, my answer show- 
ed that I had spent my time in wondering and speculat- 
ing, rather than in memorizing the answer written 
down in the hook. With his usual gravity my father 
read out the question: "What is the chief end of 
man ? " And with more promptness than discre- 
tion, I frankly gave it, as my opinion, that man's 
chief end was his head. My father took this as 
a bit of youthful and impious impertinence, and pro- 
ceeded to give me a sound thrasliing for my smartness. 
That question is still an open one between me and the 
Presbyterian fathers. I have never yet seen any good 
reason to change my opinion, and they have not 
thought it proper to change the answer to that question 
in the catechism. So we are still divided in opinion on 
that point. In this little difference between me and 
Presbyterian theology, my father very promptly sided 
with his adopted church against his own motherless off'- 
spring. This aroused in me a strong prejudice against 
the whole catechism fraternity, and from that day to 
the end of my boyhood's theological course, I never 
saw a catechism, short or long, that I did not devoutly 
wish it were shorter at both ends and not quite so long- 
in the middle. P>ut in those days, every son and ever}^ 
daughter of a Presbyterian father or mother, had to 
learn both the shorter and longer catechisms, no matter 
how intense and well-grounded might be the feelings of 
prejudice against those theological documents. 

Looking back over my checkered career, I feel 
that I have demonstrated, by more than seventy 
years of eventful experiment, that the first clause in the 
answer to that famous question, as written down in the 



,1 REMARKABLE MEMORY. 35 

Shorter Catechism, is not correct. I cannot feel that 
my poor, unworthy life has in any way gk)rified God. 
To me it is a precious thought, that God Avill glorify 
me, if I beheve on his only begotten Son, but it is not 
in my heart, nor do I find authority in the teaching of 
the Scriptures, to claim that my life or conduct has, in 
any way, affected the glory which God had before the 
world was. 

I entered this world by the sacrifice of a noble, bless- 
ed mother's life — she died in giving me birth — and I 
hope to enter the glorious world above, where trouble 
comes not, through the sacrifice of another purer, 
nobler and higher life — the life of my ever precious 
Savior. But I do not claim that I have glorified God, 
or that I can glorify him, by such a life as I have lived ; 
much less do I believe that God will save me because 
.of any works of merit which I have done. 

Of the first years of my babyhood, I remember noth- 
ing, tliough I was always told that I had a remarkable 
memory. This tradition concerning my memory had 
its origin in a little incident that occurred in my early 
childhood. I heard older persons relate certain events, 
which were very interesting to me, so often, that I re- 
peated them to my playmates and declared that I could 
remember them distinctly myself. For this remarka- 
ble development of a rather precocious memory, I was 
heartily laughed at, and informed that the things took 
place two or three years before I was born. Had they 
told me this sooner, they might have kept me from thus 
making a fool of myself almost the first thing I did in 
life, but perhaps this early beginning in a life-time oc- 
cupation was well enough. Had not this hereditary 
tendency of my nature manifested itself at that early 
age, there would have been left the more innate foolish- 



36 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



ness to ooze out of me in riper years, and it might have 
cropped out in directions far more harmful and none the 
less emharrassing to me. I do not think I intentionally 




"TURNED UPSIDE DOWN." 

prevaricated about those incidents in my early child- 
hood. I had heard them repeated so often that I verily 
thought I remembered them. 



JOB'S AFFLICTIONS. 37 

I am at'kod to relate some of my earliest recollections. 
I think I can recollect some things which occurred in 
my third year — I know I can recollect things that oc- 
curred in my fourth year. The first thing I remembei- 
is the churning my old black mammy used to give me 
on her knee, to stop my yelling, when, perhaps, the milk 
drawn from my bottle had curdled on my little stomach. 
I did not know then, nor do I yet, why she thus churned 
and wallopped me. I don't understand why this bar- 
barous treatment of babies still prevails in this enlight- 
ened country. AVhy should a sick baby be treated 
worse than a horse or a dog ? When animals are sick 
and suffering, they are allowed to lie down and rest, or 
turn and tumble about, as nature may prompt. But 
when a helpless little babe is suffering, it must be trot- 
ted up and down, turned over on its back, then tum- 
bled over on its stomach, turned up-side down, wrong 
end up, and every other imaginable way, except inside out. 

Tlie more it is pounded, twisted and jolted, the louder 
it squalls, and no wonder. Finally, the poor, anxious, 
exhausted mother gives up in despair and the much 
worried, shamefully abused little darling drops into 
sweet and refreshing sleep. 

Dark clouds lowered o'er my cradle, and misfortune 
has ever been my lot. I have been unfortunate men- 
tally, morally, physically, politically and financially. 
Unfortunate, mentally, through ignorance, morally, 
through wickedness, politically, by being always on the 
losing side, financially, b}^ being three times ruined — 
" dead broke" — through no fault of mine, and physically, 
by suffering, at difierent times through life, all of Job's 
afiiictions, with small-pox thrown in. I have always 
thought that the devil was the author of that loathsome, 
painful, death-dealing disease, and I hold that the old 



38 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

serpent never has done a meaner thing tlian to originate 
that detestable plague among men. It came near carry- 
ing me across the river, and even that would have 
been scarcely worse than to spoil my beauty as it did. 
I have never been considered a beauty since I had the 
small-pox ! One, and only one, of Job's misfortunes I 
have escaped, and for that I am profoundly thankful to — 
my wife ! I have never had a mean, quarrelsome wife, 
and, God being my helper, I never will have one. I would 
not have such a wife for all the temporal good-fortune 
that crowned Job's latter days. I have had grievous 
troubles in society from my very youth up. I was too 
poor, and too ignorant, and too ''unpolished," to asso- 
ciate with what the world called the best society, in 
early life. By the way, the " unpolish," I am told, 
has not been entirely rubbed off yet ! I served my time 
as a soldier, but there, too, I lost all save honor, and as 
I never kept much of that on hand at a time, the little 
I saved is hardly worth the mention. And, worst of 
all, when I was a soldier, I got most ingloriously thrashed. 
All that is left to me on that line is my limited stock of 
honor, my self-respect, and the consciousness that I al- 
ways did what, at the time, I earnestly and sincerely be- 
lieved to be my duty. 

But my life has not all been storms, clouds, darkness, 
trials, disappointments, conflicts and troubles. I have 
had days of brightest sunshine as well as of darkest 
gloom. I have had prosperity as well as adversity; 
clear skies as well as lowering clouds ; joy and gladness 
as well as sorrow and sadness ; victory as well as de- 
feat. Mine has not been an even, uneventful life, though 
it has, perhaps, been an unimportant and an unprolit- 
able one to the world. 

The cradles in which babies were rocked in those 



AN OLD-FASHIONED CRADLE, 39 

(lays, in the circle of life in which I was born, wonld be 
something of a curiosit}^ now. I saw mine many years 
after I had ceased to use it. The model cradle of 1816 
was simply half ot a hollow log, with a bit of clap- 
board nailed on each end, to keep the youngster from 
getting out of the thing and causing trouble. This 
simple arrangement was placed on the dirt, or puncheon 




" GENTLY ROCKED THE YOUNG HOPEFUL." 

floor of a log cabin; the infant, carefully wrapped in 
quilts, or in the fur skins of wild animals, was placed in it, 
and the niotlicr or nurse, seated near enough, to touch it 
Avith her foot, gently rocked the young hopeful througli 
sweet dreams of innocent infancy, to the cares and 
trials of maturer childhood. 

Of all the cradles ever invented, the old time, hollow- 



40 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

log variety, on a puncheon floor, or a dirt floor, unqnes- 
tionably had the strongest proclivity towards perpetual 
motion. It almost rocked itself. Once started, it would 
rock on for hours with only an occasional help hy a 
gentle touch of the maternal foot. A thick cloth pad 
was fastened on each side of the cradle near the top to 
prevent the concern from capsizing. I doubt whether 
inventive genius has made any real improvement, ex- 
cept in looks, upon this rude cradle of my childhood. I 
know J have never been rocked in an easier going con- 
cern. 



CHAPTER III. 



BLACK MAMMIES. 

Like other children, who were brought up at the South 
in those early days, by parents who owned slaves, I 
had a black mammy. In my case, such an arrange- 
ment was a necessity, for my mother died at the time of 
my birth, but a little later in the history of the country, 
a black mammy was an indispensable piece of furniture 
in many of the aristocratic households where there were 
infants to nurse. For the benefit of those who are not in- 
formed as to the customs and institutions of the old-time 
South, it would, perhaps, be well to describe this relic of 
ages past. 

A black mammy was not exactly a nurse. She had 
the care of all the children of the household, in a certain 
sense, from earliest infancy till they were somewhat ad- 
vanced into the maturer years of boyhood and girlhood, 
but not exactly in the capacity of nurse. She was 
rather a foster mother. She took charge of each child 
of her mistress, at birth, and she brought them all up 
so far as a general supervision was concerned, and in 
many cases she nursed them at her own breast. 
She Avas a motherly, even-tempered, child-loving old 
soul with an inexhaustible supply of songs, stories, 
traditions, and superstitions with which to amuse 
and entertain her young charges. She always lived in 
a cabin near the family residence, and devoted her time 
largely to the children. The real mother of the chil- 
dren gave them careful and constant attention and 

(-41) 



42 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

superintended their training in a general way, but she 
took upon herself very little of the burdens and drudgery 
of bringing them up. 

A nurse was an entirely diflerent thing from a black 
mammy. The nurse was the children's guardian and 
companion when they went out for exercise, on visits, 
or to seek diversion and recreation. A nurse was 
younger, more tidy in dress, and every way more come- 
ly, than a black mammy. The black mammy was the 
highest authority in the nursery in all matters per- 
taining to the management of the children. The 
nurse was subordinate to her, and even the real mother 
of the children humored her superior claims of author- 
ity far enough never to needlessly make an issue with 
her in the government of the nursery. 

The relationship between a child and its black mam- 
my was both intimate and affectionate. Any Southern 
man would resent an injury to his old black mammy, as 
a personal insult, as long as he lived. Distinguished 
men of the old-time South never visited their old homes 
without tenderly greeting the faithful old slave whom 
they had known only as mammy, in early childhood. 
It was no unusual thing for Congressmen and Senators 
to sit on a rude stool in the old mammy's log cabin, 
and listen with courteous patience, if not with deep in- 
terest to her story of what had " been gwine on since 
you been lef ' de ole place." 

The husband of the old mammy was a person of no 
ordinary importance in the domestic economy of a 
Southern home. His own children always called 
him daddy, and everybody else called him uncle. 
He took upon himself the general management and 
over-sight of everything about the house, and the en- 
tire household depended upon him to keep everything 



THE OLD DADDIES. 



43 



straight. He superintended the gardening- for the mas- 
ter, looked after the carriages and horses, took care 
of the ladies' driving harness, attended to the flow- 
ers and shrubbery about the mansion, and watched 




" NO MORE INTERESTING COUPLE COULD BE FOUND. 

over the children about the premises, lie always 
had a supply of strings, nails, fishing rods, mar- 
bles, and tools, to mend broken toys, for the boys. lie 
delighted to hunt, fish or engage in any kind of sport 
with the boys, and was never happier than when he was 



44 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

working to gratify some wliim of the girls, in arranging 
tilings about the place. He was always busy, though 
he was never required to do any regular manual 
labor. Younger negroes were at his command, to 
do any work which was committed to him, and 
he never was expected to do anything more than 
superintend it. Still, he was industrious by long- 
established habit, and he was as busy as a hen w^ith one 
chick, from early dawn till late at night. Everybody 
about the place loved him devotedly, from the master to 
the mammy, and he was eminently worthy of their af- 
fection. Ko more interesting couple could be found, in 
all the South, than an old daddy, ax on shoulder, leaving 
his cabin for the regular duties of the morning, and his 
old spouse, pipe in mouth, giving him the accustomed 
lecture, about matters and things in general, as he 
trudged away. 

My grandfather bought my old black mammy, from a 
Massachusetts slave-ship, when she was only six years 
old. She was just from the dark continent then, and 
not a word of our language could she speak. She was 
about forty-five years of age, when I was born. If there 
can be a feeling in the human heart stronger than a 
mother's love for her first-born, that feeling burned in 
the deepest depths of her passionate, African heart, for me. 
Her skin was as black as night, but her heart was as 
white and as pure as the virgin snow. I don't believe she 
ever saw the day, from the time I Avas placed in her 
swarthy arms, when but a few hours old, to the day of 
her death, in my eighteenth year, that she would not 
have laid down her life for me. For her tender care 
and motherly love, and for the sleepless nights she pass- 
ed in ministering to the wants and in trying to alleviate 
the pains of the poor, motherless little w^aif, I have 



/ 



HAPP Y S UNDA YS. 45 

never ceased to give lier the unstinted devotion and ad- 
oration of a grateful lieart. 

In my later boyhood, after I was old enough to take 
care of myself, and was taken from her charge, I often 
went to see her, and spent my Sundays with her. I 
loved her better than any other person or thing in the 
whole world. She loved me as devotedly as I loved her, 
and she always saved, for me, apples, cakes, home- 
made candy, and such other delicacies as she knew I 
was fond of, and which she could in anyway obtain. 
She would never eat such things herself, no matter how 
much she might hunger for them. She always saved 
everthing of that kind for me. As long as she lived, 
my Sunday visits to her lowly and lonely cabin were 
great feast-days as well as occasions of hearty enjoy- 
ment of tender, loving, motherly companionship with 
my faithful old mammy. She patiently heard the story 
of my successes and reverses in life, and she was always 
ready to weep when I told her I had failed, or applaud 
me with enthusiasm when I could tell her I had suc- 
ceeded, in any of my undertakings. But the blessed 
old soul walked entirely by faith touching all my plans 
and prospects in life. It was a comfort and an inspira- 
tion to me to tell her about them, and she always list- 
ened to me with the interest of genuine affection, but it 
was all beyond her comprehension. Her mind was too 
weak to understand my purposes, no matter hoAV hard I 
might try to explain them to her, but she had unbound- 
ed faith in me, and always expressed herself as perfectly 
confident that everything I attempted would, in the end, 
come out just as I had ordained that it should. And 
on that faith she would have acted, if I had assigned 
her any work to perform in the matter of consummat- 
ing my purposes, though her action, in fulfilling the 



46 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

work assigned her, had brought her suffering indescrib- 
able and even deatli itself. I have often, thought that 
her faith in me, and her love for me, aptly illustrate the 
faith we short-sighted mortals should have in God, 
who lays all the plans of the world's progress, and 
in his own way accomplishes his wise, but inscrutable 
purposes. 

When my grand-father bought her from the slave- 
ship, he took her away from all the other Africans who 
were brought over with her. She could not speak a 
word of English at that time, and until she learned our 
language she had a lonesome time of it. She soon for- 
got her native language, except to count ten in it, and 
this much she taught me when I was a little toddler at 
her knees. I suppose I am the only living man in the 
civilized world to-day, who can even count ten in her 
peculiar dialect. 

I love to linger upon the memory of that faithful old 
slave. Hers was the dusky hand that rocked my baby 
cradle. Oftimes tears from her loving eyes fell upon 
my baby face, as she soothed me, and crooned me to 
sleep in the silent, and to me, suffering hours of night. 
In my melancholy retrospections, I often think of her 
now, with tearful eyes and weary heart, and wonder 
whether she ever comes from her far-off home in the 
glory land, to watch over her old-time, wayward charge. 
Does her glorified spirit ever hover about me now, 
with the old-time tenderness and love, and long to help 
my weary soul onward and upward to that better land? 

While strolling through a Southern forest one balmy 
evening in early spring, not many years ago, I came 
upon a lonely, dilapidated negro cabin nestling among 
the trees. To me, it was a precious souvenir of the 
sweet long-ago. The full moon, just rising, cast long, 



THE DESERTED CABIN. 



47 



wavering sliadows over the moss-covered roof, and 
Ijriars clung about the long-deserted walls. Whippoor- 
wills chanted their lonely solo in the forest, a mocking- 




'' WALKING TOWARDS THE CHURCH WITH MY SWEETHEART." 

bird warbled his medley from the top of an oak, mag- 
nolias perfumed the air, and owls hooted dolefully in 
the distance. To me, the whole scene was full of deso- 
lation, and, by contrast, reminded me of the blessed 



48 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

days gone by. And there, by that lonely cabin in the 
woods, I thought long and serionsly of my old black 
mammy, and, amidst such environments, I wept and 
prayed away some of the sorrows and burdens of my 
weary heart. 

Poor old mammy ! The last time I ever saw her, we met 
one Sunday at church . I had moved to town, as an appren- 
tice, to learn the trade of a blacksmith, but I visited the 
old home in the country about twice a month. I al- 
ways met the faithful old soul at church, on these visits, 
and she never failed to put her black arms around my 
neck and kiss me in a perfect transport of joyful emo- 
tions. The last time I met the dear, faithful, loving 
old soul, I was walking towards the church door with 
my sweetheart, when she, unceremoniously, rushed up 
to me, and in the presence of the young lady, threw 
her arms around my neck, as usual, and pressed a moth- 
erly kiss on both my cheeks. 

I then did one of the meanest things of my life — a thing 
which has caused me feelings of humiliation, shame and 
heartful regret during all the years of my life since that 
memorable day. I deeply deplore it, even now, after 
the lapse of more tlian half a century, and I would give 
world's of wealth, if I possessed it, could I but correct 
that mistake of my boyhood days. My crime was sim- 
ply base ingratitude. I blushed for shame that I should 
be thus kissed, by an old negress, in the jiresence of 
my young lady friend. I have never yet fully recovered 
my self-respect, when I think how I blushed to be kissed 
and loved by one who had so nobly earned her right 
to a mother's affections and privileges, by all she had 
done for me during my helpless, infant orphanage. It 
was mean and contemptible in me. But I will yet atone 
for it, in a measure, if I am so fortunate as to meet her 



BY HER GRAVE. 



49 



ransomed soul on tlie glory-gilded shore of eternity. In 
that sweet by-and-by, I will walk right np to her, and 
if her face is as wrinkled and black as it was wdien last 
I saw itj I will, nevertheless, throw my arms around 




'' BY HER GRAVE IN THE WOODS. 

her neck and, before God, Christ, the angels and assem- 
bled universe, tenderly press a loving, repentant kiss 
upon her cheeks. I wept bitter tears, when I stood by 
her humble grave in after years, and thought of all 
her love and devotion to the helpless waif, and then re- 
4 



50 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

membered that cowardly blush of shame at her kiss of 
love the last time we ever met on the storm-swept shore 
of time. 

And there, mid the stillness of nature, by her grave 
in the woods, I solemnly vowed to cherish her memory, 
to strive to imitate her love and labors for the mother- 
less and homeless suffering little ones of this sorrow- 
blighted world, and to labor and pray earnestly and 
continually, while I live, for the amelioration of the 
sufferings of her down -trodden race. And here, now, 
with all the earnestness of a loving, grateful heart, 
I deliberatelv record that vow, and seal it with a peni- 
tent tear. 

Devotion to those old mammies and daddies is one 
of the marked traits of Southern character. Through- 
out the war, and during all the hardships of the coun- 
try immediately after the war, those faithful old 
negroes remained true to their white friends and former 
masters, and, in all my travels through the South, I 
have never found a case in which they have been cast oft' 
" or neglected by their former owners. They have never 
ceased to occupy their old-time place in the Southern 
families. They still live in the old log cabins near 
the country residences, and they take all the interest 
of absolute ownership in everything connected with 
the old plantation. They feel great pride in the old 
family name and reputation, and delight to tell how 
"I fotch up dese yer chilluns to be 'spectable an' 
hones'." They have a contempt for "all dese yer 
smart Elhck niggers w'at growed up sence freedom 
come out," and they never tire of drawing contrasts 
between "de laz'ness o' dese yer young bucks" and 
"de way'dem fiel' ban's use ter hump deyselves fer 
me an' de ole boss 'fo' de war." Those specimens of 



OLD TIMES IN DIXIE. 51 

the negro race are too old and feeble to labor now, and yet 
they are bountifully supplied, with all the necessaries 
and comforts of life, by thei;- white friends. They 
have very retentive memories, and their descriptions 
of old times in Dixie are remai'kable for fullness of 
details, and for little incidents, that serve to bring out 
the history of that period more completely and satis- 
factorily than even the most painstaking historian could 
write it. 



CHAPTER lY. 



THE OLD HUNTERS. 

There is a remarkably strange and deeply interesting 
period of Southern history just behind my earliest rec- 
ollections. In early childhood, I knew well the people 
who had lived through those earlier days, and from con- 
stant association with them I learned so much about the 
country and the customs of life, with which they were 
perfectly familiar by life-long experience and observa- 
tion, that the history of that period seems a veritable 
part of the story of my own life. I refer now to a time 
before there were any slaves, of consequence, in all the 
country where my life has been spent, and before there 
were even any farms, worthy the Dame, in that section. 

The changes that have taken place in the appearance 
of the country itself, since those early days, are not 
less wonderful than the revolutions that have been 
wrought in the manners and customs of the people. 
All my childhood, youth and early manhood were spent 
in constant association and friendly companionship with 
middle-aged men and women who were contemporaries 
with the Indians in this country before any homes were 
built or any farms were cleared. The South of those 
days differed widely from the South of the present 
time, even with respect to the very appearance of the 
face of the country itself. The hills and the valleys, 
the creeks and the rivers are all here now just as they 
were here then, of course, but how marvelous are the 
changes that have taken place in them ! 
(52) 



FORESTS AND CANE-BRAKES. 53 

So far as my observations have gone, the South con- 
sists of level bottom lands and fertile valleys, bordered 
by rough mountain regions. In early days, when first 
the country was vacated by the Indians, it was all tim- 
ber lands. There were no prairies in the South worthy 
the name, in comparison with the great prairies of the 
West. To clear away the heavy forests and put the 
lands in cultivation, was a huge undertaking. The val- 
leys and bottoms were covered with dense cane-brakes 
and other growth of small brush-wood, matted together 
with a perfect network of vines and briers. The im- 
penetrable jungles, in those bottoms and valleys, were 
infested with wild beasts and ugly vipers. Above all 
this dense undergrowth towered an unbroken forest of 
mammoth trees. There were regions of such country, 
miles in extent, where no ray of the sun had touched 
the face of the earth for many decades. Across these 
jungles, wild beasts had beaten a few narrow, zig-zag 
paths, but beyond those narrow ways it was impossible 
to penetrate the thickets, even on foot. Leaves and 
other decaying vegetable matter, many inches thick, 
covered the whole face of the earth. Streams of water 
were crooked, sluggish and loathsome. Ragged, rotting 
drifts choked the channels of the creeks, and seriously 
interfered with the proper drainage of the country. 
Such obstructions caused the streams to over-flow their 
banks and submerge the low grounds contiguous to 
them, forming disease-breeding swamps, ponds and 
lagoons. 

The uplands and mountain regions were more invit- 
ing. The forests were not so dense, and there was no 
undergrowth to obstruct the view or impede travel. 
Over these higher, table lands, in the mountain country, 
one could drive a wagon for mile& without any road. 



54 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

In those uplands, the experienced woodsman, on horse- 
back or afoot, habitually ignored all roads and took his 
journey by the nearest route across the open country. 
The streams of water were brisk, clear and pure. For- 
est fires annually destroyed the decayed, but thoroughly 
dried, vegetable matter from the face of the earth. 
Thus cleansed, and warmed by the rays of sunshine which 
came down through the slight foliage of the scattering 
trees, the earth produced an abundance of grass and other 
vegetable food for deer and other herbivorous wild ani- 
mals. Innumerable springs of the purest of water burst 
from the sides of the mountains and went laughing away 
over beautiful water-falls to the loathsome valley of death 
below. The mountain air sighed through the tree-tops 
as pure and sweet as the breath of a maiden; squirrels 
gamboled in the forest trees; turkeys gobbled and strut- 
ted on the mountains; eagles screamed from their lofty 
perch on towering cliffs ; and doves coo^d their story of 
love on every hill and in every dale. 

The first settlers of the country occupied the uplands 
and mountain regions. The bottom lands were consid- 
ered too low and swampy for human habitation, at that 
early day, and for years afterwards they were carefully 
avoided on account of nnhealthfulness. But when the 
necessities of increased white population, and the im- 
portation of thousands of slaves, crowded the people 
down into those bottoms, it was discovered that the 
lowlands of the South were by far the most valuable 
part of the country for farming purposes. When the 
forests and undergrowth were cleared away, and the 
channels of the streams straightened and freed from 
obstructions, the whole face of the country was trans- 
formed as if by magic. Improved drainage soon con- 
verted sAvamps, ponds and lagoons into cotton, rice and 



DANIEL BOONE'S GUN. 



55 




FLINT-AND-STEEL. 



sugar plantations, andtlie sun- 
shine changed malarial low- 
lands into healthful settle- 
ments. 

It required considerahle cap- 
ital and labor to open up a 
farm in the bottoms then. Such 
an enterprise, like the build- 
ing of a railroad at this day, 
called for men of means and 
business capacity. Those vast 
scopes of rich agricultural 
lands remained in unbroken 
forests till wealthy slave own- 
ers moved upon them with 
mules, negroes and supplies 
from older states. 

The first settlers of the 
country, who occupied the 
mountain region, were not 
farmers. They were hunters 
by profession. Their homes 
were rude log huts, with clap- 
board roofs, dirt floors and 
wooden chimneys. Those 
who assumed aristocratic airs 
among the early mountaineers 
floored their cabins with 
puncheons. One cow, a few 
articles of wearing apparel 
and househould furniture, a 
long flint-and-steel rifle, a 
shabby old pony and a pack 
of dogs, constituted the in- 



56 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

ventory of personal property of an average moun- 
taineer. 

Comparatively few young people, of this day, have 
ever seen a Hint-and-steel gun. The one here illustrat- 
ed was the celebrated rifle of Daniel Boone, which is 
noAV the property of the Tennessee Historical Society. 
It may be seen at the rooms of that society in Nashville, 
Tennessee. The principal peculiarity of those old-time 
guns was the process of igniting the powder and dis- 
charging the load. Caps and cartridges were unknown 
in those days. The lock of a flint-and-steel gun was 
much the same as that of any other gun, except that a 
small piece of flint was fastened to the hammer, which 
struck against a bit of steel when the hammer fell. 
The piece of steel worked on a hinge and was knocked 
back when the flint struck it, exposing to the sparks, 
struck from the contact of the flint and steel, a small 
quantity of powder, called the " priming," in a little 
cavity called the " pan," immediately under the bit of 
steel. There was a small hole, called the "touch-hole," 
connecting the "pan" with the interior of the gun. 
When the sparks ignited the "priming," the "touch- 
hole," if everything worked right, carried the "flash" to 
the powder within, and so fired off' the charge. Pre- 
pared flints for such guns were an article of merchan- 
dise in those days, which could be bought in any store. 
Occasionally the flint would fail to strike flre, in which 
case the remedy was to wet it with the tongue ; hence 
the saying, " lick your flint and try again." A " flash 
in the pan " was a case in which the "touch-hole" failed 
to carry the flash to the powder so as to discharge the 
load. This frequently occurred on account of the 
"touch-hole" being stopped up. If the "priming," 
or the " pan " happened to get wet, it was difficult 



A FLASH IN THE PAN. 



57 



to get even a " flash in the pan," and next to impossible 
to get a shot fired off. When the powder in the "touch- 
hole" got damp, the gun would "hang fire." That is, 
after the " flash in the pan," the damp powder in the 




" SHE SPUTTERED AN SPOOTERED. 

"touch hole" would burn very slowly, with a great 
sputtering and fizzing, like a piece of ordinary fuse, 
till the fire reached the dry powder in the charge, when 
the load would go off with a bang. This was very an- 
noying, and usually resulted in a wild shot, if nothing 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




SHE HUNG FIRE. 59 

more serious. It required a man of good nerve and 
considerable practice to hold a steady aim, at any time, 
with the "flash in the pan" but a few inches from his 
face, and when the old gun would " hang fire " in earn- 
est, the best of marksmen would shoot wide of the 
mark. 

An old mountaineer once told me how his old gun 
hung fire one day when he deliberately aimed at a 
chicken but a few yards away. He said : 

" She sputtered, an' spootered, and sizzled till the 
chicken got tired waitin' an' went over in the field to 
hunt June bugs. I had both eyes shet, fur the sparks 
waiz jest a b'ilin' out'n the tech hole, an' I dasn't take 
'er down from my shoulder, 'cause I knowed she'd go oft' 
some time that day, an' when she did go, I knowed she'd 
git whatever wuz before 'er. So thar I wuz, as blind 
as a owl, an' a dodgin' the sparks worse' n a blind 
mule in a yaller jackets nes', an' 'bout that time a old 
sheep trotted out before the gun, jest as she went ofl', 
an' got the whole load right behind the shoulder, an' 
keeled over deader'n a shad." 

In those days there was no need for an old hunter to 
make anything on the farm, but a little corn for bread. 
The horse and the cow fared sumptuously, winter and 
summer, " on the range," and the gun and the dogs, with 
the help of the man and his pony, were good for an 
abundance of meat from the woods. Mounted on his 
old pony, the original mountaineer would go sneaking 
through the woods with his gun on his shoulder and his 
dogs at his heels, in search of game, while the faithful 
wife, with the help of her children, cultivated a few 
vegetables and a patch of corn, milked the cow and at- 
tended to other domestic duties. 

When the corn was harvested, there was no such 



60 



SEVENTY YEABS IN DIXIE. 



thing as a grist mill in all tlie country, to convert it into 
meal. At a much later date, settlers in that country 
carried corn twenty to thirty miles to mill, on horse- 
back. The very earliest settlers prepared corn for the 
table by either boiling it into hominy or beating it to 
meal, or, rather, to dust, by hand, with a pestle in a 
mortar. The mortar was a small basin hollowed out of 
a rock. The pestle was a smooth stone something near 
the size of the basin in the mortar. A few of those old 
mortars may yet be found in possession of the very old 
people of the country. 

I have been fortunate enough to find one, from which my 




'' MEAL-MAKING MACHINEIIY. 

artist drew the picture here presented. It is simply a 
large, rough rock with a cavity, or basin, hollowed out 
in it, large enough to hold about a gallon of shelled 
corn. Imagine a man seated on the ground, the mortar 
between his knees and the pestle in his hand, and you 
have in mind a clear picture of the meal-making 
machinery of this country less than a century ago. It 
was a slow process, of course, but there was no demand 
for any great hurry in the business then, l^o body 
seemed to have any ambition to get rich, and there was 
nothing for a man to do but pound meal and hunt deer. 



THE OLD MOUNTAINEERS. 6L 

The meal which they made on those old machines was 
not equal to the best grade of patent flour made in this 
day, as an article of diet, but it answered all the pur- 
jDOses of fashionable bread-stufl:* with our fore-fathers. 

When there was a scarcity of corn, and the grinding 
in the mill, or rather the pounding in the mortar, be- 
came low, the dry meat from the breast of wild turkeys, 
and venison hams thoroughl}^ dried, made pretty fair 
substitutes for bread. I knew old people in my boy- 
hood who had used such substitutes for bread weeks at 
a time, and yet they told me that life was more enjoy- 
able then than it is now, with all our patent flour and 
improved cooking. In traveling through the moun- 
tains of the South several years ago, I found several 
specimens of old mountaineers and first settlers of the 
country. They still lived in the simple style of the good 
times of old, and it was always their delight to talk about 
the country and its inhabitants as they knew them in 
the day when old hunters flourished in the land. From 
such specimens of old times as those I discovered in the 
mountains, the imagnation, aided by their descriptions 
of men and things in olden times, can easily picture life 
among the mountains in Dixie before the days of 
slavery and wealth. 

There were no post-oflUces, no mails, no schools, no 
newspapers and no stores in that country in those days. 
Such things existed, to some extent, in more populous 
regions forty or fifty miles away, but what did they 
care for such little conveniences of civilization fifty 
miles away, when perhaps a fine deer might be found 
just over the hill not forty rods oft*. Those mountains 
contained mineral wealth inestimable, then, as they do 
now, of course, l)ut what did those old hunters care for 
a coal field or an ore bank worth a few millions of dol- 



62 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

lars, when they were hable to get a good shot at a fine 
turkey any moment. 

One of the old settlers was particularly interesting to 
me. He lived in a little log cabin at the foot of a great 
mountain. He settled there soon after the Indians left 
the country. All the land about his cabin, that could 
be cultivated, was in cotton fields when I was there, 
but he remembered exactly where the old ziz-zag path 
ran, that was beaten out by deer and other wild animals 
in passing from the mountains to the cane-brakes in the 
bottoms, while the country was yet in the woods. He 
showed me where he sat under a tree in his yard one 
evening many years ago, and counted twenty-eight deer 
leisurely walking, single file, along the path from the 
bottoms to the mountains. He showed me the exact 
spot wdiere the wolves caught a calf several months old 
about three o'clock one afternoon, many years ago. 
The place was in the middle of a cotton field when I 
was there. 

He told me he once heard Andrew Johnson make 
a political speech to a great crowd at a barbecue 
in Tennessee. Mr. Johnson was, himself, one of the 
old settlers, and knew exactly how to touch the tender 
spot in the hearts of the old mountaineers. The cur- 
rent of public sentiment was decidedly against him at 
the barbecue, but he took his chances on creating a 
reaction in his favor among the old settlers. "Fellow 
citizens, the first time I ever saw this country, I cut my 
way through the cane-brake with a large hunting-knife 
near the spot on which I now stand." Such was the 
eminent statesman's opening sentence. That went, 
straight to the hearts of the old settlers, and completely 
turned popular feeling in Mr. Johnson's favor for that 
day. The old hunters gave a yell of approval which 



\ 



OLD AXDY'S SPEECH. 63 

wakened the echoes for half a mile around. The oppo- 
sition weakened perceptibly at this unexpected demon- 
stration, and Mr. Johnson made one of his great 
speeches, which swept everything before him. When 
that old mountaineer told me about it years afterwards, 
he could remember nothing of the great speech but the 
sentence I have quoted, but he grew enthusiastic in 
praise of " Old Andy," and showed his readiness to vote 
for him or die with him, if need be, in furthering any 
measure that might have been coupled on to that little 
initiative sentence of his speech. The fact that An- 
drew Johnson cut his way through a cane-brake with a 
hunting-knife did not demonstrate to my mind that his 
platform in that canvass was favorable to the best in- 
terests of the country, but I did not express myself on 
that point to my old friend, the mountaineer. It was 
interesting, to me, to hear an old settler enthusiastically 
describe "Old Andy's" speech one moment, and the 
next instant tell, with equal enthusiasm, how he had 
killed scores of deer on the very spot where Birmingham, 
Alabama is now built, before anybody lived in miles of 
that place. 

One of the leading characteristics of those old settlers 
is their preference for old times. They are not highly 
educated, they take no interest in books, they rarely re- 
ceive a letter, and never read a paper. In style of dress 
and habits of life they adhere closely to the old ways. 
They are men of vigorous constitutions, robust health, 
erect forms and sprightly movements. Though well 
along in the seventies, they enjoy perfect health, and 
look as young as more modern men at fifty. One of 
them, in his eighty-second year, mounted an old horse 
and rode forty miles across as rough a mountain 
country as I ever navigated on horse-back, and at 



G4 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

the end of the trip seemed as sprightly as a school boy 




"NO USE FUR THE INFERNAL TOWN. 

Speaking of old times, one of the old mountaineers 
said : 



A SPANG UP NAG. 65 

"I wuz offered a hundred and sixty acres of land 
once right whar the town of luka, Mississippi, now 
stands, fur a old one-eyed hoss I had that wuz wo'th 
about thirty dollars them days." 

I asked him if he had not always regretted that he 
did not make that trade. He said : 

" Well, I don't know's I've got any use fur the in- 
fernal town with all 'fits highfalootin' ways, an' I tell 
you Avhat, that thar hoss was a spang up nag fur a still 
hunt them times." 

I tried to reason with him. I told him that the whole 
town would he a magnificent property for one man to 
own, and that if he only possessed it, he would be one of 
the richest men in all the country. But it was no use. 
He merely said : 

" Well, that's all owein' to a man's taste. I tell you 
what my feelin's is about sich things. If you had sich a 
hoss now as that wuz, an' this country had the game in it 
what it had them days, an' / owned that whole everlast- 
in' town with all 'fits fine clothes an' Sunday fixin's, 
you'd git a even swap out'n me mighty quick 'f I couldn' 
git it ofi:''n my ban's fur any better price. That's me, 
right up one side and down t'other." 

Those old hunters often clothed themselves in gar- 
ments made from the skins of wild beasts, even in my 
own recollection, long after other people began to wear 
humespun Sunday clothes. Their fashionable suits con- 
sisted of coon-skin cap, panther-skin vest, buck-skin 
breeches and raw-hide moccasins. Those old men were 
not noted for cleanliness of person or neatness of toilet. 
They never dreamed of such things as comb and brush 
for the hair, or razor for the beard. Some of them may 
have taken a bath secretly now and then, but I have not 
5 



66 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

been able to find a well authenticated case of sncli a de- 
parture from uniform custom. 

They had their preachers and their religion, and, 
though their theology was decidedly crude, their wor- 
ship was commendable for its earnestness. They usual- 
ly had a sort of church conference on Saturday, to 
transact church business. On such occasions they held 
a kind of church court for the trial of all who stood ac- 
cused of violations of church usages. An eye to busi- 
ness and a hope of immortal glory, in about equal pro- 
portions, seem to have constituted the motive of the 
average hunter in attending the Saturday meetings of 
the church. Every hunter would take his gun and his 
hounds with him to meeting, with the hope of making 
up for any lack of spirituality in the worship by secur- 
ing a nice venison, for Sunday, on the trip. In that 
sparsely settled country, an average congregation would 
consist of, say, fifteen families. The country was health- 
ful and the people were prolific, hence an average house- 
hold would consist of probably seven persons, two of 
whom would be infants, and a third, too young to keep 
quiet during the services. It would be a rather low 
average to say there were five dogs to the family. From 
this it will be seen that a congregation of fifteen fami- 
lies would contain forty-five babies and seventy-five 
dogs, with only sixty adults to police the mob. 

The preaching was a kind of sing-song exhortation, 
made up principally of death-bed stories and blood- 
curdhng descriptions of a decidedly Uteral hell. Very 
few of the old hunters had either Bibles or hymn books, 
.and not many of the preachers could read. Preachers 
claimed to be called of God to the ministry, and any effort 
to prepare a sermon was, with them, a species of infidelity, 
in that it showed lack of reliance upon God, and undue 



ENJOYING LIFE. 67 

confidence in human wisdom. Sucli were the old hun- 
ters — a generation of people who preceded the first 
agricultural inhabitants of the country. Their occupa- 
tion was to take the world easy and enjoy life, but the 
main purpose of their successors was to build houses and- 
opeu the country for actual cultivation. 



CHAPTER Y. 



HOW THINGS HAVE CHANGED. 

The revolutions that have taken place in all parts of 
the South, during the memory of people yet living, can 
be best understood, perhaps, in the light of the 
changes in some particular and well-known locality. 

I can remember when hunters killed deer in sight of 
the hill on which the capitol of the State of Tennessee 
now stands. All the lowlands around the city of Nash- 
ville, Tennessee, including much of th» territory now 
inside the corporate limits of the city, were covered with 
dense cane-brakes, and the lands contiguous to the river 
below Kashville, where noAV are some of the finest farms 
in the South, were considered too low and swampy for 
cultivation. Such land could have been bought for a 
few cents an acre. 

Nashville was scarcely more than a boat landing on 
the west bank of the Cumberland river. There was 
not a house east of the river, and the whole territory now 
occupied by East Nashville, down to the very bank of 
the river, sold for fifty cents an acre. In those days 
capitol hill was out in the country near Nashville, and 
all the territory South of Broad Street was either in 
cultivation or covered with native forests and dense 
thickets. The present site of the Maxwell House was 
in the woods, and untutored, if not untamed, In- 
dians were plentifully scattered over all parts of the 

country. 

There is a man living in Nashville, Tennessee, at this 

(68) 



SCALPED BY INDIANS. 69 

writing, who claims the distinguished honor of having 
been scalped by the wild Indians, when he was an in- 
fant. I have investigated this case of hair-breadth 
escape from Indian massacre as well as I could, and, 
while I am not willing to vouch for the truthfulness of 
the tradition, I have not a doubt but that the man him- 
self firmly believes it. Though he was present himself 
when the scalping was done, according to every version 




" ONE OF THE OLDEST LANDMARKS. 

of the story I have heard, the scalping itself is but a 
tradition with him, as well as with the rest of us. He 
was but a few months old when he passed that crisis in 
his eventful career, and, of course, he remembers none 
of the particulars of the case. Even if the tradition is 
true in every detail, the wound healed long before he 
can remember. So the strongest case he can make out 
in favor of the scalping theory must forever rest, main- 



70 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE, 

ly, upon hear-say testimony, corroborated by his glisten- 
ing bald head. 

There is no denying the fact that the whole top of 
his head is as hairless as an egg, but even that does not 
fully substantiate, to my entire satisfaction, the tradition 
that he was scalped when an infant. There are proba- 
bly ten thousand other men, now living in Nashville, 
whose heads are as bald as his, but all those shining 
pates are not monuments of Indian cruelty. Still, there 
is something peculiar about this particular bald head, 
above all others in Nashville, and that is the fact that 
many people, not overly credulous, consider it one of 
the oldest landmarks, of its kind, in the whole country. 
This is as much as I feel authorized to say in favor of 
the truthfalness of the tradition that Nashville yet 
has one citizen who has been scalped by wild In- 
dians. 

The story of this scalping, as it has been given to 
me, is, that the Indians murdered the entire family, save 
one little girl, probably too small to walk, and an infant 
boy at its mother's breast. As the two children were 
unable to walk, they were not murdered, but were left, 
presumably to die from cold and starvation. The living 
and the dead were all scalped alike. The two children 
were found, by some hunters, in time to save the life of 
the infant boy, but his baby sister was too far gone to 
revive, and she soon died. 

While there is, in my mind, some doubt as to the 
truthfulness of this strange story, I am frank to confess 
that, if the Indians didn't scalp this old man when he 
was an infant, it was their own fault. There were wild 
Indians here in great multitudes when he was born, and 
they undoubtedly did scalp many people about that 



ATTACKED BY WOLVES. 71 

time. As he was an infant at his mother's breast, ac- 
cording to his own statement of the case, they coukln't 
have found an easier job in the scalping business than to 
have raised his hair, and from the pride he takes in the 
vague tradition concerning the matter, I am sure they 
would have won his eternal gratitude and placed him 
under lasting obligations by making him an example of 
their fiendish art. But the mere fact that there were In- 
dians here when he was an infant is abundantly sufficient 
for all the purposes of this book, as showing the marvelous 
changes that have taken place in this country since our 
oldest citizens were born, whether we accept the tradi- 
tion that this particular old man was scalped when he 
was an infant or not, and this fact can be substantiated 
by many infallible proofs. 

At the foot of a great mountain which borders one of 
the most beautiful and most fertile valleys in the South, 
an old settler identified a spot, not many years ago, 
as I was traveling with him over the country, which 
suggested to him a story in which I was deeply interest- 
ed. He said : 

" When I fust come to this yer country, I was a dri v~ 
in' of a wagon loaded with meat, an' my team gin out 
right here one evenin', an' I had to strike camp. Thar 
wuz n't a livin' bein' in ten mile o' this place then, an' 
you could n't a stuck a butcher knife to the handle in 
the cane-brake that covered the whole face o' the yeath. 
I br'iled some meat fur supper, an' 'bout the time I got 
ready to go to sleep the wolves got a scent o' that 
br'iled bacon, an' let loose a howl that wuz awful enough 
to wake the dead. At fust, thar didn't seem to be 
more'nadozenof 'em,but it wuz n't long before the woods 
wuz alive with 'em. They come a howlin' frum the 
four quarters o' the whole keration, an' sich another 



72 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

fuss as they made no man ever hearn before. If thar 
wuz one wolf in that gang, thar wuz a million. Did 
you ever hear wolves a howlin'? Well, sir, it is the 
awfullest, scarin'est thing a man ever hearn. Thar I 



wuz in the middle o'the woods, with a million o' hungry 
wolves a howlin' aroun' me, an' not a blessed thing to 
light 'em with, and not a livin' bein' in ten mile o' me, 
to help me light 'em. The night wuz as dark as 



A DARK NIGHT. 73 

a pile o' black cats in a dungeon, an' tlie wolves made 
sicli a fuss I couldn't hear my own pra'rs. I wus jist 
from the old settlements then, an' didn't know that 
wolves wuz all fuss an' no fight. Thar aint no more 
danger in a wolf than a lamb, onless it is awfully 
crow^ded with hunger, or pushed into a corner whar it 
can't run. But I did n't know that then. It wuz the 
fust time I 'd ever had any dealin's with the sneakin' 
things. 

^' I cut an' carried logs an' piled on the wagon, to 
cover up the meat from wild varmints, before night, as 
I did every evenin' when I camped, so I knowed the 
meat wuz safe. But I tell you what, I thought my 
time 'ad come. I wuz determined to have a good light 
to die by, so I piled on bresh, an' made a roarin' fire. I 
soon found out that a wolf is powerful skittish about a 
light, so I piled more bresh on the fire, an' kep' 'er a 
boomin' all night. Them wolves would come so close 
to me that I could see the'r eyes a shinin' an' hear 
the'r teeth a snappin', an' I looked fur 'em to make a 
bulge fur me an' scoop me in every minute, but they 
did n't. But if that wuz n't the longest night I ever got 
through you may shoot me. Them wolves kep' a howl- 
in' an' I kep' the fire a boomin' the wdiole blessed night, 
an' not a wink o' sleep did any of us git that night." 

It may add something to the credibility of this re- 
markable wolf story to say I have been intimately ac- 
quainted with the chief actor in it from my childhood 
up. I have always considered him a man of more than 
average veracity. He is still living, though somewhat 
advanced in years, and all the old people, wdio knew the 
general condition of the country at the time he avers 
that the wolves made the attack upon him, by night, in 
the woods, think there is nothing improbable in the 



74 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

main facts of his story. As for myself, I have always 
discounted the story as to the numher of wolves he 
heard that night. This, however, is only an opinion of 
his, drawn, evidently, hy an excited imagination, and it 
does not at all aflect his credibility as to the main fact 
that there were wolves there in great abundance. In- 
deed it is a circumstance which goes far to strengthen 
his testimony as to the presence ot the wolves. It 
shows that his imagination was in a peculiar state of 
perturbation which nothing but the howling of a gang 
of hungry wolves, under just such circumstances, could 
have produced. 

I am no stranger, myself, to the effect which the 
howling of wolves in a dense forest at night will pro- 
duce upon the whole nervous system of a lonely, belated 
traveler. I have heard such things under similar cir- 
cumstances myself. The man who, under such circum- 
stances, can be induced to place his estimate of the 
number of wolves engaged in such a serenade at any- 
thing less than a million, is not listening to such music 
for the first time in his life, certain. 

It occurs to me that my friend, the old settler, used a 
pretty vigorous metaphor as to the density of the cane- 
brake "which covered the whole face o' the yeath" 
at that time and place, but I give it as my opinion, 
based upon a personal knowledge of several parts of 
"the face o' the yeath" in this country about that time, 
that the expression is allowable under a liberal construc- 
tion of the laws governing figures of speech. The 
whole country was then, compared with its present con- 
dition, uninhabited, covered by cane-brakes and un- 
broken forests, and infested with wolves, panthers, bears, 
deer and other wild animals. 

I can remember well when the Indians were removed 



WOLF TRAPS. ^^ 

by treaty, froni a large district of country west of 
Hun tsvill , Alabama, to the Indian Temtory. No e - 
fort had been made to open tarms or bmld homes m all 
Lt region of country up to the time the Indums 
vere removed. Immediately after the departure of 
the Indians, however, the country was <>P«-\f°' ? ; 
tlement and when the white people began to poui 
Irt'tC found it full of all manner of^^cl^-ts^ 
Wolves and P..thers w^ bo --- *^^,,^S 

:z:;:^^^ ^^^^-^^ °^ ^^-- ''-^ ^t 'f 

a bounty for wolf scalps and panther scalps for 
the first few years after the Indians were ^^^^^^^f^J^ 
the law of the State, any man was allowed tbree dolla s 
for each wolf scalp he would take, to be paid out of the 
State's funds. Wolf hunting was a lucrative industiy 
fn Sis country in those days, with those who under- 
stood the business. But notwithstanding the wolves 
were very numerous and very annoying, they were re- 
markably shy and hard to catch. They would conimit 
terrible havoc among sheep, hogs and Y^'^g f^^^ 
and howl defiantly at your very door, by night, but they 
would not show themselves by day. 

The old hunters invented many diff-crcnt plans to 
catch them in traps, and occasionally they would get a 
good shot at them in daylight, but an inexperienced 
hunter almost invariably made a complete failure in a 

wolf liuiit. , ,-, 

Any of the old settlers in this country will tell you 
that the wolves howled and the panthers screamed 
around their lonely cabins in the woods every night 
Sheep had to be put in houses, or in pens surrounded 
by high picket fences, every night, hard by their own- 
ers' cabins, to save them from the wolves, and many 



76 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

settlers kept jouiig calves under tlieir cabin floors at 
night, to protect tliem from wolves and panthers. 

Young people these days have no idea what hardships 
tlieir forefathers endured in the early settlement of this 
country. 

One of my most intimate acquaintances and confiden- 
tials friends settled in the mountains of !N'orth Ala- 
bama, west of Huntsville, soon after the Indians were 
removed from that country. He was a poor man, and 
he had to seek employment, in order to support his wife 
and two infant children, till he could get his land cleared. 
Wealthy slave owners were then opening farms in the 
rich valley ot the Tennessee river, and to them he was 
compelled to go for employment. There was no one 
nearer than that who would pay him wages for work. It 
was twenty miles from his little log cabin in the moun- 
tains to the place in the river bottoms where he was en- 
gaged to split rails, for fifty cents a hundred, and 
board himself. He camped in the woods and did his 
own cooking from Monday morning till Saturday night. 
His regular task was to fell the trees and split fifteen 
hundred rails a week. When it is remembered that 
farmers in the same country now pay from seventy-five 
cents to a dollar a hundred for splitting rails, and that 
the best rail splitters will not make over nine hundred 
rails a week, the difi^erence between '^now^^ and ''the7i/' 
will be readily understood. 

This poor man would chop fire wood around his 
cabin in the mountains all day Sunday, carry it on his 
shoulder and stack it by his cabin door, for his wife and 
children to burn during the week, eat supper at his 
humble home Sunday night, and walk twenty miles 
through the woods to his camp in the river bottoms. 
By daylight Monday morning he would be at work in 



THE RAIL SPLITTER. " 

the bottoms, and till late Saturday night he would work 
unceasingly from early dawn till late at mght, do Ins 
own cooking in his camp, and sleep by a hre .n the 
woods And all that time his wife and two little chil- 
dren were in that lonely cabin in the mountains, twenty 
miles away, with but a few neighbors nearer than three 
miles The wife worked as hard as the husband, with 
cards, wheel and loom, making clothing for her Mtle 
family Every night wolves would howl and panthers 
scream aroundher cabin in the woods, and often she would 
not see a soul in human shape, except her own helpless 
children, for several days at a time. After supper at 
his camp in the river bottoms Saturday night, the hus- 
band would walk twenty miles to his home in the 
mountains, to spend Sunday with his tamily, occupying 
the day mainly in chopping and carrying wood to last 
them another week. ,.„,•• 

This aged man and his faithful wife are still living, 
and their younger child, of those days, is now a mid- 
dle-aged man, and one of the leading business men ot 
the new South. Their labors and hardships, in those 
days are not over-drawn, nor was theirs an exceptional 
case AVhat they suffered and accomplished may be 
taken as a fair sample of what prevailed all over this 
country during the first half of this century. _ 

The country was infested with raccoons, minks, toxes 
and other vermin for many years after the wolves, pan- 
thers and other wild animals of larger size were exter- 
minated. Those pestiferous little wild creatures sub- 
sisted largely upon poultry and certain kinds of vege- 
tables, and their frequent depredations were a great 
drain upon the scant resources of the country. 

Raccoons were particularly fond of green corn, and 
where they were very numerous they would destroy 



78 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

vast quantities of it, in a few nights, when it was 
in the stage known in agricultural parlance as roast- 
ing ear. The 'coon would climh the corn, hreak 
clown the stalk and eat the ear. In many cases a 'coon 
would eat but a few bites of an ear after the stalk was 
broken down, but the breaking of the stalk and the bit- 
ing of the ear, at that stage, completely ruined the 
corn. Hence, a single 'coon would destroy several 
bushels of corn in a very few nights. And in the early 
settlement of the country, a little patch of but a few 
acres of corn, surrounded by a heavy forest and a dense 
thicket in the bottoms, would often be visited by scores 
of 'coons every night. Such dire destruction of corn 
soon brought grave disaster upon the 'coons. It at 
once marked that obnoxious little wild animal as the 
open enemy of the human race, and the entire country 
straightway began to wage a relentless war of extermi- 
nation against the whole raccoon tribe. Good '' 'coon 
dogs" soon came to be highly esteemed in every family, 
and the regulation "'coon hunt" occupied the time of 
all the male inhabitants of the country the better part 
of the first half of every night. And in cases of great 
emergency the 'coons were given another round by dogs 
and hunters a couple of hours just before day-light 
in the morning. While men and boys followed dogs 
through fields and forests on a "'coon hunt," women 
and girls applied themselves diligently to work every 
night with cards, wheels and looms, till a late hour, and 
every member of the family was out of bed and at the 
post of duty — men and boys after 'coons and women 
and girls at the wheels — full two hours before day-light 
in the morning. 

The commerce of the country, in those days, was 
largely a barter business between fur dealers and 'coon 



'COOy SKIKS. 



79 



hunters. 'Coon skins were valuable for then- fur and 
hunters could readily exchange tliem for powder, ead, 
aiids and such other articles as they needed in their 
humble homes, and could get from for dealers. Thus a 
pest of the country was converted into ablessmg for the 
people. 




"FRACTIONAL CURRENCY." 

It now seems doubtfol whether the country conld 
have been developed without those little animals which 
at one time were universally regarded as an unmitiga ed 
evil and blighting curse in the land. This has of en 
been the case in the progress of the wodd under the 
guidance of Almighty God. "Every bitter has its 
fweet." There are roses among the thorns. -bverj 



80 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

creature of God is good, and notliing to be refused, if it 
be received with thanksgiving." But wherein did the 
despised ^coons prove to be a blessing to the people ? 
After all, the blessing was not in the nature and habits 
of the 'coon, so much as in the value of its hide, but wdio 
can say that the hide would have been so valuable if the 
'coon had been less obnoxious in its habits ? 

The commercial value of 'coon skins was the basis of 
the whole financial system of the country in those early 
days. There was no money of consequence here at that 
time. 'Coon skins constituted the fractional currency 
in many places. By common consent 'and tacit agree- 
ment, if not by legislative enactment, they were recog- 
nized as a' legal tender in certain sections of the 
country. The value of everything was determined 
by the number of 'coon skins it was w^orth. Mar- 
riage license were paid for in 'coon skins, preachers 
and public officers were remunerated for their services 
in the same currency, and drinks w^ere exchanged for 
them in public saloons at regulation rates. Every man 
who had anything to sell promptly stated how^ many 
'coon skins he asked for it, and each family counted 
their 'coon skins with as much pride of wealth as a 
miser counts his bank bills. To say a man had the 
'coon skins w^as equivalent to saying he had the cash, 
and it was as common to estimate a man's w^ealth in 
'coon skins then as in dollars now. 

The method of preparing such skins for market or for 
use as a circulating medium, was very simple. As soon 
as the skin was taken from the animal it was stretched 
tight and tacked to the walls of a log cabin, to dry. It re- 
mained in that position till thoroughly dry, wdien it was 
ready for market or for use as fractional currency. When 
well stretched, a skin w^ould dry thoroughly, in favora- 



A CASH WEDDING. 



81 



ble weather, in a very few days. They were always 
tacked to the log walls on the outside of cabins and 
above the reach of dogs. If left within the reach of 
dogs, they were liable to be pulled down and devoured 
by a hungry cur. 

The walls of almost every cabin in the country were well 




" I've got the 'coon skins." 

nigh covered with 'coon skins tacked up to try and 
awaiting to be used. The greater the number af 'coon 
skins on the cabin walls, the richer the man who lived in 
the house. When the family wished to purchase anything, 
the recognized purse-bearer of the household would walk 
out and pull down the necessary number of 'coon skins 
to pay the bill. 
6 



82 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

An old story is told of a young couple who went to 
tlie county seat to get married, which aptly illustrates 
the customs of the country in those days, whether the 
story itself be regarded as fact or fiction. Dressed in 
their best apparel, the blushing pair stalked into the 
clerk's office and called for "marryin' papers." The 
law required every applicant for marriage license to file a 
bond, with approved security, for the execution and return 
of the license, for record, before the clerk was allowed 
to issue such papers. Under the law, therefore, the clerk 
was compelled to ask the prospective benedict who 
would go on his bond for the license. The young man, 
not understanding the law, considered this a reflection 
upon his credit, and promptly responded with consider- 
able emphasis and earnestness : 

" Bon's be hanged ! I don't ask no man to go into 
any bon's fur my license. I don't want to marry on a 
credit nohow. I've got the 'coon skins to lam right 
down fur the license as soon as you git 'em writ out." 



CHAPTER YI. 



JOIINNY-CAKES. 

Some of the commonest articles of food, of my boy- 
hood days, would be a great curiosity to the young peo- 
ple of this fastidious age. I often sigh for a taste of the 
old-fashioned Johnny-cake, which was the joy of my 
heart in early childhood. I have not seen one of those 
now historic cakes for more than fifty years. The pro- 
cess of making them was very simple, and the machin- 
ery necessary to their manufacture, exceedingly crude 
and inexpensive. The essentials of Johnny-cake mak- 
ing were a bit of clapboard, dressed to a smooth surface 
with ax or drawing-knife, a quantity of soft corn-meal 
dough, a hot fire and a skillful woman to manipulate the 
ingredients. It would be easy enough to find all 
those things now, save the woman. Modern progress 
has carried us far beyond this simple and wholesome 
diet of our forefathers, and woman's sphere has been 
raised far above the level of Johnny-cake baking. 
The manufacture of such bread has long been a 

lost art. 

The process was simply to put the soft dough on the 
Johnny-cake board and stand it before the hot fire, sup- 
ported by a chair, at an angle of about forty-five degrees, 
till the heat of the fire baked the cake thoroughly done 
and crusty brown. I have a distinct and pleasing rec- 
ollection that the woman always spread the soft dough 
upon the board with her bare hands, leaving deep prints 
of her dehcate fingers upon the cake as she patted it 

(83) 



84 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

down and spread it out to the proper thickness. It re- 
quired no very vivid imagination to see something real- 
ly ornamental in such finger prints on the brown crust 
of a well-baked Johnny-cake, especially when the fair 
cook was known to be the belle of the neighborhood 
and the idol of your heart. 

The origin of Johnny-cakes is not known. Probably 
the early white settlers in this country learned the art 
of making them from the Indians. There is a theory 
that the Indians of olden times were accustomed to 
bake a quantity of such cakes, when preparing to make 
a long journey, to eat along the way. It is thought by 
some that they were, therefore, called journey cakes at 
first — that is, cakes to take on a journey. This name, 
it is supposed by those who accept this theory, was, m 
course of time, corrupted into Johnny-cakes. 

I do not claim to be an authority upon the origin of 
Johnny-cakes, but with becoming modesty I do assert 
that I thoroughly understand the process of making them. 
I feel half inclined, at times, to convert my pulpit into a 
kitchen, and feed the flock on Johnny-cakes instead of 
theology. I would doubtless increase my congregations 
and advance my salary by the change, for the world 
runs wild over anything new in the pulpit these days, 
and churches encourage, flatter and liberally support 
everything that creates a sensation and draws a crowd. 
When Christians exchange the grace of giving for frol- 
ics and festivals, why may not preachers use Johnny- 
cakes in lieu of the gospel ? 

Speaking of Johnny-cakes reminds me of a bit of 
Southern history and legislation which richly deserves 
a place in these reminiscences. 

In years gone by, there lived, near the present site of 
Columbia, Tennessee, one John, whose surname was 



TROUBLED LOVERS. 85 

Cake. By a not uncommon turn in the current of 
human events, this Mr. John Cake, who, for short, was 
called Johnny Cake, fell desperately in love with a 
young lady whose Christian name was Pattie. He 
courted her and was promptly rejected on the ground 
that his name, which was already a joke and a by-word 
wherever he was known, would be, more than ever, the 
theme of wags and the humiliation of generations yet 
unborn, if she should consent to exchange her own 
maiden name for it. That she loved him devotedly she 
neither denied nor attempted to conceal, but she positively 
would not consent to o^o waltzins^ down the acres with him, 

U CD O 7 

bound together by the indissoluble ties of matrimony, to 
be jeered and ridiculed by cheap w^ags and vulgar 
wits. Who that had any appreciation at all of the 
ridiculous, she argued, could fail to see a side-splitting 
joke in the connubial union of Johnny Cake and Pattie 
Cake ? It was not his fault that his name was Johnny 
Cake, she freely admitted, nor was she to be blamed for 
the ill-luck wdiich led her parents to name her Pattie, 
but she and her lover were both to be pitied, she con- 
tended, as the helpless victims of grave misfortune, and 
hopeless sufferers under a dispensation of unkind prov- 
idence, which had forever separated two hearts that 
beat as one, by giving them names which could not be 
united without making them living examples of a bur- 
lesque of fate. The man w^as importunate, the woman 
obstinate. The situation became serious. Misfortune 
begat sympathy. John Cake's name ceased to be a 
neighborhood joke, and began to be- considered a per- 
sonal calamity. The lovers pined, wags looked serious 
and the whole community gravely discussed the situa- 
tion. A 23etition to the legislature to change Cake's 
name was finally written by some practical sympa- 



86 SEVENTY YEABS IN DIXIE. 

tliizer and signed by the whole community. The next 
legislature changed the name, the couple married and 
*' lived happily together ever afterwards" as Mr. and 
Mrs. J. C. Mitchell. 

Ash cakes were also in general use when I was a boy. 
To me, they were not as palatable as Johnny-cakes, but 
older people considered them far more healthful. Chil- 
dren were often required to eat them on sanitary princi- 
ples. Ash cakes were made by putting soft corn-meal 
dough, pressed into thin cakes between the hands, into 
the hot ashes under the log lire on the hearth, to be 
baked. A considerable quantity of ashes, with some 
small coals, and a reasonable amount of other dirt and 
trash, always adhered to the cakes. All such foreign 
matter had to be eaten with the cakes, of course. It 
was supposed to be beneficial to the health of children, 
to eat all the dirt, ashes and charcoal that stuck to 
the cakes. I am now of the opinion that the ash cake 
cannot be successfully defended on sanitary principles, 
but the argument in its favor, based on economy, is sim- 
ply invulnerable. Ashes and dirt may not be as health- 
ful as plain corn bread, but they are certainly cheaper. 
And after all, the important question with me in early 
boyhood was not to improve my digestion, but to get 
something to digest. My digestive apparatus was al- 
ways up with its work and clamoring for something to 
do. Corn cakes, dirt, ashes and charcoals, all eaten 
together for supper, would be digested during the night 
without causing even a dream, so sound would be my 
slumber. But, really, to speak the truth in soberness, 
ash cakes were not at all ill-flavored, after one became 
accustomed to eating them. 

Another kind of bread which I very highly appre- 
ciated in those days, was a kind of corn light bread. It 



THE BARK GATHERERS. 87 

was made of corii-meal, samewhat on fhe same general 
plan we now make liglit ^^east bread out of flour. 

We had no cooking stoves in those days. Indeed, we 
were not overly well supplied with cooking vessels and 
utensils of any kind. It was doubtless the lack of such 
things, in the main, which gave the ash cake and the 
Johnny-cake such wide-spread popularity. A skillet 
for frying, an oven for baking and a pot for boiling, 
constituted the outfit of cooking vessels in the best 
equipped homes. 

Corn light bread was always baked in the big flat 
oven, over a few live coals, on the hearth, before a log 
fire. Good coals for baking were the joy of every 
woman's heart, and every boy knew exactly what kind 
of oak bark made the best quality of such coals. The 
thick, heavy bark of an aged black oak ranked high as 
raw material for the manufacture of baking coals. The 
bark on rails made from such trees would be thoroughly 
dry, well seasoned, and easy to remove in a few months 
after the rails were made. The rails were ten feet long, 
and the bark could be pu.lled from them wdth all ease, 
by hand, in strips from three to ^yq inches wide and 
full ten feet in length. 

To gather bark from rails along the fences around the 
fields, for cooking purposes, was the daily employment 
of every boy who was too small to do regular manual 
labor on the farm. Boys of that age wore neither 
shoes nor hat. A single garment and a slouch sun- 
bonnet constituted the wardrobe of such masculine 
juveniles. The garment was a long, loose dress, made 
of heavy, home-spun cloth and cut with a very decided 
feyninlne bias. Thus clad, the fragile bark-gatherer had 
no protection for his feet against thorns, briers, bull- 
nettles and sharp rocks, and when he was so unfortu- 



88 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

nate as to disturb a colony of bumble bees or yellow 
jackets — a uot infrequent piece of ill-luck — the wide 
spreading skirts of liis only garment served only to liive 
the infuriated insects around his bare body, as they 
madly rose from their nest in the ground beneath his 
feet. 

Lizards, scorpions and black snakes always seemed 
most numerous along the fences where bark of the best 
quality was most abundant, and though perfectly harm- 
less within themselves, they excited terrors indescriba- 
ble in the breast of every defenseless bark-gatherer. 

A lizard would not bite, but it had sharp claws, a 
rough skin and an ugly look. It delighted to sun itself 
on the top rail of a fence, in hot weather, and it sought 
protection from cold and rain under the loose bark of 
the rails nearer the ground. It perhaps had no feeling 
of either friendship or enmity towards the boy who so 
frequently disturbed its repose in quest of bark for an 
impatient mother, but it was a great coward, and when 
once thoroughly stampeded it completely lost its wits. 
In sheer fright it would often dash headlong under its tor- 
mentors skirts without a thought as to the impropriety 
or danger of such a course. The boy who could suffer a 
sharp-clawed, scaly-skinned lizard to climb his bare 
anatomy and not go almost into spasms from fright, 
was blessed with steadier nerves than I ever possessed. 
In my experince, such escapades always resulted in a 
thoroughly frightened boy, a squashed lizard and a 
rent garment. In my fright I would convulsively seize 
the lizard, with a death grip, through the folds of my 
garment, throw my bark in every direction and run 
across the field, screaming as though a thousand demons 
were at my heels. When completely exhausted from 
running and fright, I would release my hold upon the 



PRESBYTERIAN BREAD. 



89 



lizard, wliicli would fall to the ground dead, arid mash- 
ed to a pulp, by my convulsive and long-sustained grip. 
My bonnet would be lost, my dress torn, and all my 
feelings of manly courage completely evaporated. 

At our house, corn light bread was always baked in 

large quantities on Satur- 
day, to keep from " break- 
ing the Sabbath," as it was 
termed, by baking bread on 
Sunday. This was a com- 
mon custom, especially in 
all Presbyterian families. 
Hence, that particular va- 
riety of the staff of life was 
frequently called Presby- 
terian bread, and to this 
day I can distinctly taste 
that old fashioned bread 
whenever I read or hear a 
straight old Presbyterian 
doctrinal sermon. True, 
those old pones were not 
as short as the Shorter 
Catechism, as long as the 
longer, as hard as predes- 
tination or as tough as 
original sin, but, according 
" TOWER OF STRENGTH." ^q ^nj thinking, infinitely 

better than all of them combined. 

I did not know then, nor do I understand yet, 
how the baking of a little bread could possibly dam- 
age "the Sabbath," but the old Presbyternin women ot 
that time had very decided convictions of their own 
on that point, and religious convictions, with those old- 




90 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

time women, meant something more than a mere formal 
clisphiy of light-hearted, routine worship on Sunday. 
Their convictions controlled their conduct and governed 
their families. One such woman, with her religious dig- 
nity and unyielding powers of discipline, would do more 
to incorporate the doctrines of her creed in the daily 
deportment of an entire neighborhood, than a whole 
denomination of flippant worshipers and vague, lib- 
eral, worldly-minded and speculative preachers these 
days. Theoretically, the church creeds of that day 
were probably not as perfect as the religious doctrine of 
these progressive times, but somehow, church members 
seem to have measured out better in their practices, ac- 
cording to their creeds, then than now. Every old 
woman in the land was a great tower of doctrinal 
strength in those days. 

"We never had any kind of warm bread at our house 
on Sunday till my sisters were large enough to have 
beaux. One Sunday, when their beaux came home 
with them from meeting, they fried some batter cakes, 
against my step-mother's solemn protest, and all that 
evening and the next day the dear old woman's face 
was as long as a moral law and as blue as her Presby- 
terian theology. 

"Women all did their own cooking and house work 
in those days. They even spun the thread, wove the 
cloth and made all the clothing for their families, with 
their own hands. And in fact it was no unusual thing 
for them to assist the men in the clearing, or do a few 
hours work every day in the crop, in cases of special 
emergency. Every family was supplied with cards, 
wheels and a loom. There was no such thing as manu- 
factured cloth of any kind for sale in stores in a coun- 
try so new, and a sewing machine would have been re- 



WOMAN'S WORK. 



91 



yarded as a miracle of the first magnitude. The hum 
of spinning wheels and the clatter of cards made music 
in every home from early dawn till nine or ten o'clock 



at night. 




"CARDING." 

Every -irl in the country had a public record as to the 
number of " cuts " she could card and spin in a day, and a 
girl's position in society, and popularity with young 
men, depended materially upon her reputation for 



92 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

neatness and industry in general household duties. 

There was not even a cotton gin in existence. We 
had to pick the seed out of the cotton with our lingers. 

After the seeds were picked from the cotton, it took 
an expert carder and spinner a whole day to make 
thread enough for the-warp of a yard of cloth, and an- 
other day to spin the woof. When the carding and 
spinning were done, the thread had to be "dyed," 
" sized," " warped," '' beamed," " harnessed," *' sleid," 
(pronounced slade) and " woven." These words may, 
or may not, be found in the dictionary. I have not tak- 
en the pains to look them all up. But they were all in 
common use in every family in this country fifty years 
ago, and each had a specific, technical meaning which 
rejDresented a part of woman's work in making cloth. 

It required at least three days hard work under that 
regime to make a yard of cloth, than which a much 
better quality of goods can now be bought for six to 
ten cents a yard. 

In carding, a woman sat in a straight-backed, home- 
made, low chair, without cushion, arms or rockers. It 
is difiicult to imagine a more uncomfortable seat. She 
held a card in each hand, and by rakiug them together 
in a series of quick jerks, she thoroughly cleansed the 
cotton of all motes and then made it into rolls as large 
as a man's thumb and as long as the cards. These rolls 
were carefully placed in a heap on the floor beside her, 
one by one, as fast as they were made, till a sufficient 
number of them were carded to spin a "cut." The 
rolls were counted as they were made, and every woman 
knew exactly how many it took to make a " cut " of 
thread. When the requisite number of rolls were 
made, the w^oman would lay aside her cdrds and take 
the wheel to spin them. This gave her a change of 



OLD CARDS FOR HAIR BRUSHES. 93 

position and work, wliicli was really a relief and a rest. 
It may be well to explain here that a "cut" was simply 
a thread one hundred and sixty yards long, and that a 
woman would card and spin about six " cuts " in a day. 
A card was simply a bit of board made of some kind 
of hard wood, about ten inches long, four inches 
wide and one-fourth of inch thick. One side of the 
board was covered with soft leather in which fine wire 
"teeth," about half an inch long, were thickly set. 
Over these " teeth " the cotton was spread, and the vig- 
orous raking of the " teeth " of a pair of cards together, 
over the cotton, as explained above, was called carding. 
Worn-out cards were used for bo"th curry-combs and 
hair brushes. Whether this was because old cards were 
really better, or only cheaper, than anything else then 
in use for currycombs or hair brushes, is, to this day, an 
unsettled question in my mind. It was clearly a matter 
of economy to curry ^^our horse or arrange your toilet 
with that which could be no longer used in any other 
way, but still old cards may have been better adapted to 
such purposes than anthing else then in use, as well as 
more economical, for ought I know to the contrary. I 
was too small to form any opinion upon the merits of 
the question myself, and a friend of mine somewhat 
older than myself, used to evade the question entirely, 
by frankly confessing that, in his boyhood days, he 
never curried a horse or combed his own hair, except 
under protest, and the few times he was comj)elled to do 
either, he wanted nothing better than an old card for 
the business, unless a card without any " teeth " at all 
could have been adopted. He thinks that such a card 
would be a decided improvement even now, in the estima- 
tion of such a boy as he was, over anything, ancient or 
modern, in the way of a currycomb or a hair brush, be- 



94 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

cause it could be rubbed over a horse witb less work, or 
drawn over bis own bead witb less pulling of bis 
tangled locks, tban anytbing else ever used for sucli 
purposes. 

Tbe question as to the respective merits of old cards 
and bair brusbes was extensively discussed in every 
borne about tbe time tbe cbange was made in tbese toi- 
let articles, but one party to tbe argument was so man- 




" OLD CARDS. 

ifestly influenced by pride and tbe otber by economy, tbat 
it was more a wrangle of antagonistic spirits tban a log- 
ical discussion of tbe merits of tbe question. In every 
case economical parents stood for tbe old cards, wbile 
fasbion-loving cbildren clamored for tbe real bair brusb. 
Tbe one contended tbat tbe old cards were in every 
way mucb better for tbe bair tban a bair brusb, wbile tbe 
otber petulantly retorted tbat it was a sbame and a dis- 



CORDING AND SPINNING. 95 

grace to use nn old card for such a purpose Avhen the 
leaders of fiishion in every neighhorhood were known 
to have real hair brushes. 

Thus, with much wrangling and some unpleasant 
feelings, the old cards gradually and steadily lost ground 
till in every home they finally gave place to more fash- 
ionable, if not better, toilet articles. 

Few things Avere more common than worn-out cards 
about every home in my boyhood days. They could be 
seen in almost every ash heap, they were sticking in the 
cracks of every stable, they were piled away in every 
closet and lumber room, and they were thrown promis- 
cuously upon every idle table or shelf, in or about the 
house. 

The carder's rolls were drawn into thread by use of a 
" wheel." Each roll would make a thread several feet 
long, which, when drawn out to the proper size, and 
well twisted, was ''run up" on a "broach" upon the 
spindle of the wheel. The rolls were thus ''spun," one 
by one, each being attached, by the rapid twisting of 
the spindle, to the one last drawn into thread, till the 
"broach" grew to be a ball of one continuous thread 
about large enough to measure a " cut." It may be well 
to explain that the word "broach" was used in a local, 
technical sense not given to it in the dictionaries. 

In " filling quills " a woman could sit on a high bench 
or stool, beside the wheel ; but in regular " spinning," 
she had to stand, or rather walk back and forth, as the 
rolls were drawn into thread, twisted by a vigorous 
turning of the wheel, and then "run up" on the 
"broach." 

The hnm of a wheel coukl be heard several hundred 
yards, and it was a familiar sound in every home from 



m 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



before daylight in the morning till nine or ten o'clock 
at night. One pair^f cards and a wheel gave employ- 
ment to two women. One carded while the other 
"spun," and they exchanged places and work everv 

"cut." -^ 




" A WHEEL. 

Picking the seeds out of cotton with the fingers was 
an every-night, after-supper job in every family. The 
cotton was parcelled out in "tasks" to each member of 
the family, and no one was allowed to go to bed till the 
"task" was done. After a hard day's work, the whole 
family would sit and pick seeds out of cotton as they 



KISSING PARTIES. 97 

drowsily nodded around a big log lire in an open fire- 
place, till late into the night, and then be out of bed 
and at work again long before day-light the next 
morning. 

Sometimes the young people would combine business 
with pleasure by meeting at night from house to house 
and having picking bees. At such gatherings, the cot- 
ton would be first spread before the fire, to dry thor- 
oughly, so that the seeds could be picked out with ease 
and rapidity. The quantity to be picked would then be 
apportioned, in equal parts, to each of the pickers, 
when a spirited contest would begin, each one striving 
to get his parcel picked first. Whoever won in the race 
was awarded the championship as the fastest picker, 
and allowed to kiss any girl he might choose in the 
crowd. The kiss always assumed the outward form of 
a joke, with the boy, and it was as uniformally resented 
as an unpleasant ordeal, by the girl, but there are w^ell 
authenticated cases in wdiich each party threw into it a 
fair degree of genuine sentiment under cover of mere 
formal submission to a social custom. It was often but 
the first public expression of the mating instinct, to be 
quickly followed by a romantic courtship and a happy 
marriage. There was no logical connection between the 
championship as the fastest seed-picker, and the privi- 
lege of kissing the choice girl, in the company, of course ; 
but when were young people of opposite sexes ever 
known to conform to the principles of logic in their de- 
portment toward each other? The custom was not 
founded on reason, or perpetuated by logic. It rested 
solely upon the consent of the parties. IN"© one knew 
whence it originated, or cared ever to see it end. It 
gave satisfaction because all parties liked it, and it was 
not disturbed because no one cared to see it modified or 
7 



98 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

abolished. But for the fact that changes in social cus- 
toms and general environments have provided other 
and better methods of giving expression to the mating 
instinct, boys v^^ould yet be straining every nerve to win 
the championship at picking bees, for the privilege of 
publicly kissing the girl of their choice. Times have 
changed, but human nature is the same. 

Every boy could not be the fastest picker at a picking 
bee, nor could every girl be the choice of the champion. 
Society anticipated this difficulty, and neatly solved the 
problem by providing a few simple games to be en- 
gaged in at the close of every bee, by all the boys and 
girls in attendance. The boys would "choose their 
partners " and march with them in a circle around the 
room, singing simple ballads with all the force of their 
powerful lungs. It is difficult to imagine a more hilari- 
ous scene than a dozen strapping boys, such as the 
habits of life peculiar to that age and country produced, 
each with a timid girl by his side, and all stalking in a 
circle about the middle of a little log cabin, vociferous- 
ly singing "Hog Drivers" or "Old Sister Phoebe," no 
two of them singing in the same pitch, half of them 
without a tune and all of them badly out of time. As 
musical entertainments, such exercises were a failure, 
but the fact that they gave every boy a chance to kiss 
the girl of his choice, and every girl an opportunity to 
vaguely indicate the boy she most admired, was a fea- 
ture which commended them to public favor, and se- 
cured for them universal popularity. 

Besides those songs and "marches," with kissing as a 
sort of doxology and benediction after each, they would 
play "Grind The Bottle," "Frog In The Middle," 
"Puss Wants A Corner" and "William Trimble Toe." 
Ill each of those games were appropriate places for kiss- 



THE WINTER HOE-DO WX. 99 

iiig. A boy would do more public kissing, and with a 
a greater zest, in a couple of hours at one of those 
old picking-bee frolics, than some men do during half 
of their married life — the latter half, of course. 

Balls were unknown, and even plain dancing was 
rigidly proscribed by church members of all denomina- 
tions, but the ungodly and the sinners often defied the 
authorities of the church and gave themselves over to a 
season of delicious enjoyment in the winter hoe-down. 
The principal difficulties in the w^ay of such amusements 
were the lack of houses in which to hold forth, and the 
scarcity of girls to make the hoe-down interesting. 
There were but few heads of familes who cared to in- 
sult the churches and tempt heaven by opening their 
houses for such amusements, and scarcely any parents 
were willing for their daughters to break over the limits 
of propriety acknowledged by the preachers and rigidly 
enforced by a healthy public sentiment. But occasionally a 
great tide of worldliness and sin would sweep over the 
country, swamp the church, set the old women to drinking 
stew and gossiping, the old men to taking grog and 
fighting, and the young people to making love and 
dancing. Such wild out-breaks of wickedness would be 
followed by a general reckoning in all the churches, in 
which some transgressors would repent and be restored, 
others would remain stubborn and be expelled, and 
many would back-bite and vow vengeance. 

Such tidal waves of unmitigated wickedness, in the 
winter, were always followed by a general revival of re- 
^ligion the next summer. The prodigals would return 
to the churches, bringing scores of new converts with 
them, preachers would rejoice, saints would shout, every- 
body would tell a bright experience of grace and zion 
would prosper. 



1 00 SE VENT Y YEA RS IN DIXIE. 

An old-time costume of a fasliionable belle would be 
a curiosity to tliis generation. There were but few 
women iinanciall}^ able to buy any part of their ward- 
robe. Indeed there was very little they could buy but 
imported silks and other grades of costly goods. There 
was but little material for wearing apparel of any kind 
manufactured in the United States, and imported goods 
were entirely too expensive for the poor inhabitants of 
this frontier country. Every woman manufactured her 
own goods and made her own garments. The various 
kinds of material used in the manufacture of goods 
for women's wear were wool, cotton, flax and tow. 
Occasionally a reigning belle and ambitious leader of 
fashion would make jeans and exchange it for silk or 
other kinds of imported goods, and thus rig herself in 
a costume that would create a sensation throughout the 
country. 

]N"o powers of description can do justice to the fash- 
ions of those days as respects the peculiar styles and 
shapes of women's garments. Fashion plates were un- 
heard of, and even an illustrated book or paper would 
have been, to us, the wonder of the world. There was 
not so much as a ladies' journal or household paper 
known in all the land. We had no methods of travel 
but walking, riding on horse-back and moving in 
wagons. The day of newspapers had not yet dawned, 
and mail facilities were exceedingly meager. There was 
absolutely no medium by which ideas of any kind could 
be communicated from one settlement to another except 
in the head of a horseman or footman, and such recep- 
tacles of thou2;ht were too small to transmit more 
than one idea of diminutive proportions at a time. 
The inhabitants of any section rarely ever saw or heard 
about anything which took place beyond the limits of 



A FASHIONABLE COSTUME 



101 



their own neighborhood. The styles and fashions of 
onginahty. And it by chance two women from dif- 



r 




" WALKED BESIDE HIS SWEETHEART." 

ferent neighborhoods, a few miles apart, were thrown 
together, their costumes, as respected everything 

s-eS:or:;tr-^'^^^-^'^^'^-^'-^^^^^^^^ 



new m 



102 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

No pictures of tlie fasliions of those days liave been 
preserved. Artists painted the portraits of the rich, 
and thus handed down to on-coming generations the 
styles of higher circles of society in that obscure age, 
but who has ever seen a portrait which gave the back- 
Avoods fashions of frontier settlers? Artists were too 
rare, portraits too expensive and early settlers too poor 
for such an enteprise. Such fashions exist only in the 
memory of those who Avere eyewitnesses of their majes- 
ty. Thfcy diftered so widely from anything this genera- 
tion has ever seen, that the fancy of my artist, aided by 
the very best verbal description I could give, has failed 
to produce anything which remotely resembles the cut 
and make of either male or female apparel in those 
days. 

That was a Bible-believing, church-going, God-wor- 
shiping generation. Few people in all the country were 
ever absent from the log meeting-house of the neighbor- 
hood on Sunday. Men, women and children all walked 
to meeting. This saved us the trouble of saddling or 
harnessing horses at home, and efiectually protected us 
against anv disturbance from a loose horse in the midst 
of a Ions: sermon at church. We could also add to the 

o 

joys of our religion, the satisfaction of the reflection 
that the poor, tired brutes were getting a day of much 
needed rest from the drudgery of dragging a heavy plow 
through rooty ground during the week. 

Each boy walked beside his sweetheart and carried 
her Sunday slioes in his pockets. The preservation of 
such shoes was a problem of the first magnitude with 
us. ITot every girl in the neighborhood could afford a 
pair of fine shoes for Sunday wear,, and the favored few 
who could display such extravagance knew well the 
cost of their vanity. 



SUNDAY SHOES. 



103 



es. 



There were no ready-made shoes for sale in store 
Every neighhorhood had a professional cohbler who 




:^'- ^^ 



PUTTING ON SUNDAY SHOES. 

made fine, calf-skin, lincd-and-bound shoes, for Sunday 
wear. The male members of each family made shoes 
of coarser grade for every-day use. 



104 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

If a girl aspired to fine, Sunday shoes, slie had to 
make cloth to barter with the neighborhood cobbler. 
Every pair of Sunday shoes, therefore, represented long- 
days and weary night-hours of hard work with cards, 
wheel and loom. 

We often walked four or five miles over rugged 
hills and rocky roads to meeting on Sunday. A few 
such tramps would have measured the natural life of a 
pair of Sunday shoes which had cost weeks of anxious 
toil and self-denial. Every boy knew Avell what his 
sweetheart's Sunday shoes had cost her, and he knew, 
too, that every" scratch or rent in them, from a sharp 
rock or an awkward step, would bring her sorrowful 
tears and sad repining for many gloomy, dreary days to 
come. It was, therefore, with feelings of tenderest af- 
fection that I always put the Sunday shoes of my best 
girl in my pockets Sunday morning as we started from 
her home to the little log meeting house some miles 
away. There are well authenticated cases in which 
other boys' sweethearts made the journey with bare 
feet over rocks and hills while the gallant beaux carried 
both shoes and hose in their pockets, but my girl in- 
variably wore her coarse, every-day shoes on such 
tramps. 

When we came near the meeting house, we would all 
call a halt, and each girl, seated on a log or a rock by 
the roadside, would put on her Sunday shoes and give 
her wardrobe and toilet a general touching up, by the 
help of her girl companions. They had no mirrors on 
such occasions, but each girl depended upon the eyes 
and the suggestions of the others in making her 
toilet. While the girls were engaged in this purely 
feminine exercise, the boys stood by as interested 
spectators. 



A L UDICR US PERFORMANCE. 105 

In all this, there was not the slightest embarrassment 
or sense of impropriety on the part of either boys or 
girls. It never occurred to us then that we would live 
to see the day when the whole programme would seem 
supremely ludicrous. 



CHAPTER VII. 



OLD-TIME DENTISTS AND DENTISTRY. 

I knew notliiiig about town-life in the days of my 
early childhood. In fact there was scarcely any such 
thing as town-life then. The country was new and 
rough, the people were rougher and fashions roughest. 
Everything was crude and unpolished. A dentist 
or a dancing master would have been a greater curiosity 
than a whole menagerie. 

If a tooth became refractory and began to jump and 
throb with pain, there were various methods for ex- 
tracting it. Professional tooth-pullers, of whom every 
neighborhood had at least one, used a pair of coarse, 
heavy pinchers made of rough bars of iron or steel in a 
blacksmith shop. 

Sometimes a non-professional substitute for a regular 
tooth-puller w^ould fasten a stout string, or cord, to the 
disafiected grinder and lift it out of its socket by a vig- 
orous jerk. 

Another popular method of extracting a tooth w^as to 
set a nail, or iron spike, against it, and make short 
work of the whole business by a heavy blow with a 
hammer. 

Eor decaying teeth there was no remedy. False teeth 
were unheard of, and the art of filling teeth was un- 
known. "When teeth ached, they were removed; when 
they decayed, they were lost. 

The negro preacher explained how people got on 
(106) 



MUST GUM IT. 107 

without teetli, in a sermon on the text: "And there 
shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." 

When the text was announced an old brother in the 
amen corner said ; 

" Hoi' on dar brer Jake. What dem folks gwine do 
whar aint got no teef ter mash ? " 

This was decidedly a hard question, but the dusky 
parson was equal to the emergency. 

"Dis tex', brer Joe, am not to be implied to dem 
whar aint got no teef ter mash. Dey dat got teef ter 
mash, mus' mash, as de tex' say, an' dey whar aint got 
no teef ter mash, mus' gum it." 

In those days boys and girls were dressed exactly 
alike till they were live or six years old. You could 
not determine the gender of the biped by looking at 
head, feet, or dress. As to head and feet, if the weather 
permitted, both were bare. Children were not consid- 
ered worth shoeing till at least six years old. The hair 
of boys and girls under six years of age was cut short. 
A six-year-old girl with long hair would have been a 
subject of general remark. 

In winter, boys and girls under six years of age wore 
a heavy, homespun, woolen frock which came down to 
their heels. The head-gear of both boys and girls was 
an old Virginia poke, or sun-bonnet. 

I have a distinct and rather painful recollection that 
my head-covering was once made of flaming red cloth. 
I was sent one morning down the hill to the spring, 
about two hundred yards from the house, to bring some 
water in a cedar piggin. The piggin was thought to be 
adapted to my age and size, but I confess that when I 
filled it with water and trudged my weary way, with 
bare feet, over frozen ground, up that long, steep hill, I 
was painfidly conscious that there was a mistake some- 



108 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

where in the calculation, either as to the size of the ves- 
sel or the strength of the boy. I was about six years old, 
and next to my flaming red head-covering, the most 
conspicuous thing about our humble home was an un- 
usually large turkey gobbler. It is either a tradition or 
a fact, that gobblers have a natural antipathy to things 
of a red color. The gobbler referred to had such 
prejudices, either natural or acquired, and through his 
foolish whim we both came to grief. As I was return- 
ing from the spring that cold, frosty morning, we met 
in the narrow foot-path, and from his maneuvering I 
readily understood that he was on the war path. He 
had often followed me about the place before, and a few 
times he had made hostile demonstrations, but on this 
particular morning he seemed unusually belligerent. 
Making a ilank movement, he hurled himself upon me 
with all his power from the rear, as I passed him. We 
toppled forward, and boy, water, piggin, turkey and all 
went down together with a crash. I ingloriously iied 
from the field, leaving him master of the situation and 
in possession of the spoils. But I vowed vengeance, 
nursed my wrath and bided my time. One morning I 
was told to go out to the barn and look for some eggs. 
I complained that I was afraid of the gobbler, but was 
shamed for my cowardice and told to defend myself. 
*'A great big boy like you afraid of a turkey! The 
yard is full of rocks. Can't you rock the gobbler off?" 
This was my long-wished-for opportunity. Off to the 
barn I went, and when I got to the barn-yard gate 
I prepared myself for the conflict. I gathered up the 
long skirts of my frock, so that, in case of defeat, I 
would not be cumbered in retreat. I filled my bosom, 
for pockets I had none, with rocks carefully selected as 
to weight, shape and size, for effective execution. Thus 



THE FIGHTING GOBBLER. 



109 



equipped, into the barn-yard I boldly marched and on 
came the foe. I took good aim and let the missile fly, 
with all the strength of my little arm. 

"Where it would have struck I know not, had not the 
old fool dodged his head right into the pathway of dan- 
ger and death. That tatal dodge sealed his doom. The 




stone struck him about two inches below the head, and 
broke his neck oif as short as a pipe stem. Flushed 
with victory, I dragged his ponderous carcass in triumph 
at my heels, and, in the sweet enjoyment of injury 
avenged, I satisfied a boy's keen appetite by feasting on 
his carcass at dinner. 

I remember well the first pair of pantaloons I ever 



110 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

had. They were not hitended for every-day use, but 
designed for dress parade and Sunday show. Strange 
to say, they were made of " store " goods. 

My sister, instigated by pride, and led on by worldly 
ambition, purchased cloth and made herself a " store- 
bought" dress. It was a flimsy material, of white 
ground, with yellow butterflies dotted over it, at long in- 
tervals, but it attracted the attention of the entire com- 
munity, gratified her vanity and excited the envy of 
her rivals. It commanded for her a position among the 
leaders of fashionable society, till decidedly the worse 
for wear and badly faded, when it was transfigured, 
so to speak, into my first pair of breeches. With those 
pantaloons I wore a hunting shirt, or long, loose 
over-garment, made of the same material. I cannot 
describe the pride I felt when dressed, for the first time, 
in such fine apparel. 

About that time I exchanged my long-detested, old 
sun-bonnet for a seal-skin cap, and the cups of my 
pride and joy were full. With much difi&culty I pre- 
vailed upon my step-mother to intercede with father, to 
buy that cap. My strongest argument with her, in favor 
of the cap theory, was a suddenly acquired aptness to 
lose bonnets. They were altogether too girlish in ex- 
pression of countenance to suit my boyish taste. So I 
l3egan to stuff them into an old hollow cedar log by the 
wayside, between our home and the field in which I 
daily labored. I told mother I lost the old bonnets. 
Thus I took my first lesson in wilfully dodging the 
truth — vulgarly called lying. 

Mother gravely doubted the truthfulness of my stories, 
and used the rod freely in the hope of picking a flaw in 
my testimony, but I endured the punishment with a 
heroism worthy a better cause. Each flogging widened 



MY FIRST BREECHES. Ill 

tlie breach "between my aftections and tlie feminine 
head-gear of my childhood, and left me more than ever 
determined to continue the boycott against the bonnets. 
I knew well the cost of a bonnet, to my belligerent 
mother, in hard work and raw material, and felt sure I 
would win in the end if I could only endure the stripes 
and iirndy hold my position, ^o boy ever made a 
braver fight for what he considered his rights, or won 
a victory better deserved or more appreciated. My 
father could have saved me from that continual strain 
upon my veracity, and the daily wear and tear on im- 
portant parts of my anatomy, by investing seventy-live 
cents in a cap, but money was scarce and bonnets were 
cheap — that is, they were 7nade, not bought. 

The dear woman finally capitulated, and I got the 
long-coveted cap. But during the siege no less than 
thirteen bonnets "bit the dust" and went to their long 
home in the capacious hollow of that old cedar log. 

Dinino^-table furniture was both crude and scarce. 
Plates, spoons, bowls and dishes were made of pewter, 
and knives, of material scarcely better, for carrying an 
edge. I well remember the first '^ crockery dishes," as 
they were called, w^e ever owned. A tide of aristocracy 
swept over the country, and we had all our pewter 
plates melted and remolded into milk basins, and veg- 
etable dishes. We then bought some blue-edged deep 
plates, with cups and saucers to match, and up we 
went in the social scale. In our humbler days of pew- 
ter plates, we drank coffee from tin cups and milk from 
squash rinds, but now we assumed aristocratic airs, 
drank coffee, tea and milk, alike, from "store-bought 
crockery cups,"" and looked down with feelings of pity 
upon the poverty-cursed '' masses'' around us! As for 
myself, I was more conservative than aristocratic in my 



112 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



early childhood, and hence I clung to my old squash 
rind and pewter spoon, against the strong current of 
fashionable innovations, as long as my days of milk and 
mush for supper lasted. 

Our knives would not hold an edge when brought in 
contact with the hard surface of our ''crockery plates." 
The first time Ave tried to dine in state, with our new 
dishes, father's knife failed and his patience went to 
pieces. It was with no small difficulty that my sisters 
got his consent to 
exchange p e w t e r 
plates for '' crockery 
dishes," at first, and 
when his knife fail- 
ed, his whole soul 
rose up in bitter 
protest against the 
innovation. He in- 
dignantly threw 
aside his disabled 
knife, and shocked 
our newly - donned 
aristocracy by call- 
ing impatiently for 
the old butcher- 
knife wdiich was 
made in the black- " we dined in state." 

smith shop. He declared that, if there were a pewter plate 
on the place, he would not eat another mouthful from 
the abominable substitutes. He denounced the spirit 
of pride and extravagance which encouraged such in- 
novations, and predicted that if the churches did n't con- 
trol such impious ambition, heaven would rebuke the 
whole world by a universal calamity of some kind. In 




PEWTER PLATES. 113 

liis vexation and righteous indignation, he declared he 
would have every ounce of pewter on the place mold- 
ed into plates the next time the tinker came round, but 
before that dignatary made another trip the progressive 
members of the family had managed to pacify his con- 
servative spirit, and pewter plates had to go. 

It maybe necessary in this connection to explain that 
tinkers were men who went from house to house, afoot 
or on horse-back, carrying with them tools and molds, for 
repairing or making all kinds of pewter vessels. Every 
piece of damaged or disabled pewter ware was carefully 
saved till the tinker came his regular rounds, when it 
was repaired or remolded into some other kind of 
vessel. 

In the change from the old order of things to the 
new, pewter plates went first. Pewter spoons held on 
a spell longer, but by and by the rising tide of innova- 
tion took them too, and with them went the tinker, 
whose business since that time has been a lost art. 

Every family had an abundance of poultry, pigs and 
puppies. The last named animals were never eaten, 
though I did not then know why, or do I yet fully un- 
derstand. It certainly would have been economy to eat 
them, and no argument was more convincing to that 
poverty -burdened generation, than the logic of economy. 
But there was a popular prejudice against such diet 
which effectually protected the whole canine tribe from 
a fate so deplorable. This unreasonable prejudice still 
prevails in the best society, but enterprising manufac- 
turers of market sausage, it is thought, have long since 
outgrown the silly whim. 

Dogs have always been prolific animals, and in my 
boyhood days the production of puppies largely ex- 
ceeded the demand. Dogs cannot live without something 
8 



114 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

to eat, and, if they are not fed, instinct, or self-prese-rva- 
tion, which is commonly called the first law of nature, 
will lead them to pilfer cupboards, larders, hens' nests 
and sheep folds, for subsistence. A hungry dog was a 
disgrace to his owner, and a constant menace to the 
whole community. But the resources of the country 
were absolutely inadequate to support such a canine 
population as would have replenished the land in a 
few years. To prevent such a catastrophe, therefore, 
we put the surplus puppies in an old sack and threw 
them into the creek. The presumption is that they 
were drowned. 

I have eaten almost everything that swims, flies or 
walks — that is covered with hair, fur, feathers, scales or 
skin. Of birds, I have never knowingly eaten an owl, 
a hawk, a crow or a buzzard. Of animals, I have al- 
ways drawn the line firmly at dogs and pole cats. I 
have eaten mules, frogs, rats, 'coons and cats. I ate a 
cat once by mistake, and have several times wished I 
had eaten the whole feline tribe, when some of the 
meanest specimens of that species came caterwauling 
around my peaceful home at midnight's sacred hour. 

The circumstances under which I ate a cat by mis- 
take, richly deserve notice here, as showing a little 
negro's ingenuity and a white man's gullibility. 

I bought from a negro boy, in the days of slavery, at 
Jackson, Mississippi, what he said were two 'possums. 
Many masters allowed their slaves large liberty, and 
even encouraged them, in such trafficing, on their own 
account. One of the so-called 'possums was very large, 
the other quite small. The smaller one had been cut 
off at both ends — head and tail. I asked the " nigger " 
why he had thus shorn it of its fair proportions, and he 
said: 



AN ABRIDGED ANIMAL. 



115 



"Well boss, I had ter cot oft 'is head, 'cause I 
squashed it up monst'us bad w'en I kil' 'im, an' mos' 
folks don't like 'possum tail much anyhow, an' I cut 
dat oft" too so de 'possum'd look sorter squar' like." 




" SORTER squar' LIKE." 

Satisfied with this plausible lie, I paid the price and 
took the 'possums. I always knew that an experienced 
and well-trained negro could lie as adroitly as a white 
man, but I confess that I was not expecting to find such 



116 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

originality and ingenuity in a mere child, of either race, 
as a liar, in an emergency like this. 

By chance, Dr. Mitchell, a local scientist of some note, 
dined with us the day we ate the abridged animal. 
When we had completely demolished the thing, except 
one piece which still remained in the dish, I discovered 
some peculiarity about the bones on my plate, of which 
there were not a few. So I said: 

''Doctor, these don't look like 'possum bones." 

He looked attentively at the bones on his own plate 
for a moment, and then said : 

"All of you please pass your bones to me." 

He was evidently getting interested. We all watched 
him in breathless suspense. He placed the bones 
together, studied them attentively for several minutes, 
and reluctantly accepted the only conclusion that was 
consistent with his knowledge of "boneology " and the 
facts before his eyes. Finally he said : 

"Parson this thing was a cat !" 

Perhaps he stated it in even stronger terms than that. 
He probably used a vigorous adjective just before the 
word " thing," which it would be an offense to pious 
ears to repeat. But suppose he did, what of it? I need 
not give his exact language, if I but state clearly his 
conclusion, which I have done. Under the excitement 
of the moment he should be allowed more latitude, in 
the selection of adjectives, than I have a right to claim. 

I have had many years in which to formulate suita- 
ble language to express an idea which burst upon his 
mind like a clap of thunder from a clear sky. And yet 
I cannot feel that I have really made any great improve- 
ment upon his language. 

His conclusion created a panic at the table. Mrs. 
Caskey beat a hasty retreat, the children laughed, the 



EATING A CAT. 117 

doctor looked non-plussed, and I vowed vengeance upon 
the negro. After the lirst shock of surprise and morti- 
fication, the practical elements of my nature asserted 
themselves. It was plain to see that apologies were use- 
less. The cat was all eaten but one piece, and there 



" PARSON, THIS THING WAS A CAT." 

could be no place found for repentance. Having set my 
hand to the plow, I was not the man to turn back. It 
was needless to hesitate or falter at that stage of the 
case. Procrastination is the thief of time. I wavered 
no longer, but boldly stuck my fork into the hist re- 



118 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



maining piece of the misrepresented animal, and quietly 
finished my dinner. 

Mast was abundant, and hogs gathered a bountiful liv- 
ing in the forest. The branches of forest trees would 
bend and break under their load of acorns and nuts, 
and no man pretended to feed hogs at all. Indeed, there 
were large sections of country in which no one pretended to 
claim any ownership of 
hogs, more than deer. 
Every man killed his 
meat from the woods. 
Hogs were always abun- 
dant and, in autumn, they 
were thoroughly fat. In 
sections of country where 
each man had his own 
hogs, we penned and fed 
pigs just enough to tame 
them and haunt them to 
their home^ For the rest ^' 
of their living, they look- 
ed to the mast. In the 
fall, when hogs were fat 
on acorns and nuts, we 
killed our year's supply 
of pork from the woods. 

The country was peculiarly well adapted to the rais- 
ing of every variety of poultry. All kinds of domestic 
fowls supported themselves and raised their young by 
scratching for bugs, and every family was abundantly 
supplied with eggs and chickens the year round, practi- 
cally without trouble or expense. The greatest and 
only difficulty in raising poultry was the trouble of pro- 
tecting the fowls from the ravages of minks, foxes. 




A HASTY RETREAT. 



SASSAFRAS TEA. 119 

hawks, owls, hungry dogs and chicken snakes. With 
a little care in guarding them against such enemies, 
the poultry departmet of every household was self-sus- 
taining and very profitable. 

CoiFee cost fifty cents a pound, and we only drank it 
for breakfast Sunday morning, except when the preacher 
or some other distinguished guest was present. It always 
tasted pretty strong of water, but made up in heat what 
it lacked in strength. Occasionally we had a taste of 
" store " tea, but not often. Those who craved a 
stronger beverage than milk, at regular meals, content- 
ed themselves with tea made from sassafras roots or an 
aromatic bush called spicewood, which grew in swamps 
and along the banks of mountain streams. 

Persimmon beer was also a favorite drink at the table 
in every family. The ripe persimmons were put in a large 
cedar churn or keg, warm water was poured on them 
and left to ferment, when it was ready to be served. It 
was palatable, refreshing and slightly stimulating. When 
served Avith Johnny-cakes, ash cakes, Presbyterian 
bread or baked sweet potatoes, it made a nutritious and 
very strengthening diet. 

Cows found abundant food "in the range" the year 
round. Cane-brakes furnished an inexhaustible supply of 
excellent provender for them during the winter, and 
grass grew luxuriantly all over the country during the 
spring, summer and fall. Every family was, therefore, 
abundantly supplied witli milk, butter, beef and cheese, 
without any expense at all beyond the small amount of 
labor necessary to prepare such things for the table. 

There was no such thing as cheese for sale in stores. 
Every woman manufactured a supply for her own use. 
A woman who did not know how to make cheese would 



120 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

have been pronounced a first-class ignoramus by tbe 
whole community. 

Household furniture was all made by hand out of 
rough timber and with crude tools. An ax, a saw, a 
drawing-knife, and a few plain augers and chisels of 
different sizes, constituted the full kit of tools, of the 
best equipped workmen. With such tools we made all 
our chairs, stools, benches, tables and bedsteads. There 
was not a bureau, sideboard, washstand or wardrobe 
in the whole country. Such a thing as a piece of paint- 
ed or varnished furniture of any kind was unheard of. 
There was not even a saw^-mill in all the country. The 
timber out of Avhich we made all our furniture was split 
from the logs with maul and wedge, hew^ed to the 
proper size and shape with an ax, dressed to a reasona- 
bly smooth surface wdth a drawing-knife, put together 
wnth chisels and augers and held in position by w^ooden 
pins. Common nails were not in use. 

A furnished room contained, say, a bed, a few rough 
chairs and stools, a long bench, a dining table and a 
cupboard made of rough clapboards. The average res- 
idence had but one room, which served all the purposes 
of parlor, sitting room, library, family room, bed room, 
kitchen and dining room. A brief description of a 
fashionable bedstead will give an idea as to the general 
character of household furniture, and illustrate how it 
could all be made, from rough lumber, by awkward 
workmen, wdth the few crude tools already described. 

A bestead had but one leg, or post, which stood near 
one corner of the cabin. The distance from the lone 
post to the log walls of the cabin was about four feet in 
one direction and seven feet in another. These dis- 
tances measured the width and lengtli of the bed. 



HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE. 121 

Tlie leg, or post, was simply a stick of timber, about 
as large as a man's leg and as liigli as his waist, split 
from a tree, lie wed scpiare w^itb an ax and smoothly 
dressed with a drawing-knife. Large auger holes were 
bored in two sides of the post, near the top, and similar 
holes were made in the logs in the w^alls of the cabin at 
the same height. Two pieces of timber, prepared after 
the same manner of the post, one four feet long and the 
other seven, served as rails of the bedstead. The ends 
of the rails were trimmed to fit the holes in post and 
walls, and one end of each rail was driven into a hole in 
the post and the other driven into a hole in the cabin 
wall. This made the frame- work of the bedstead. 
Rough clapboards were placed over this frame, after the 
manner of slats, and a dry cow hide, hair turned up, 
was spread over the clapboards, to complete the ground- 
work of the bed. 

There was nothing particularly ornamental about this 
piece of primitive furniture, but it is difficult, even now, 
to see how^ it could have been improved upon with the 
rough material, crude implements and awkward work- 
men we had to depend on in its construction. Economy, 
utility and durability were the strong points of those 
old-time bedsteads. 

The first piece of furniture not made by our own 
hands in the manner described, which ever came into 
our house, was a big chest, with lock and key, made by 
a neighborhood carpenter, who, about that time, began 
to devise various improvements in liousehold furniture. 
He possessed extraordinary skill as a workman, and in 
devising, improved articles of furniture, both useful and 
ornamental, he seemed gifted almost to inspiration. In 
some way, which is a profound mystery to my mind 
even to this day, he gathered sufficient information con- 



122 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

cerning the progress the world was making beyond the 
limits of our little neighborhood, to provide himself 
Avith many new and strange tools, which were eminent- 
ly useful to him in his trade, but marvelous in our eyes. 
His desisrns in ornamental and useful articles of furni- 
ture w^ere unique and original, and all his w^ork was ex- 
ecuted with a neatness and taste wdiich, to us, seemed 
little short of witch-craft. It is easy enough to look 
back now and see that he was but a pioneer in the man- 
ufacture of ornamental household furniture, but the 
wdsest men of earth then had no conceptions at all as to 
what developments lay along the line of his humble 
work. 

Before w^e bought our large chest from the ingenious 
workman, my mother kept her coffee, sugar and other 
valuables in large gourds under the bed. We called 
them fat-gourds, either because they were fat and plump 
in shape, or because they were extensively used to hold 
lard. Such gourds grew to enormous size. Many of 
them would hold as much as a bushel. 

Our large new chest had two apartments, in one of 
wdiich we kept coffee ; in the other, sugar. There was 
no such thing as locking a fat-gourd. Under the old 
order of things, therefore, my wayward hand would occas- 
ionally find its way into the gourd which contained the 
sugar, but that detestable new chest was always locked, 
and the key I could never find. On this ground alone 
I based many an argument against the abominable in- 
novation which, to my boyish mind, seemed absolutely 
unanswerable. It is worthy of note, even now, that 
with that first improvement in articles of household fur- 
niture, came the lock and key, which are emblems of 
distrust, suspicion and selfishness. And every step along 
every line of so-called improvement from that day to 



A CONTENTED PEOPLE. 123 

this has seemingly increased man's greed for gain and 
weakened his conhdence in his fellowmen. 

In early days we had no locks for anything'. The 
first lock that ever came into our community was 
bought by a farmer and attached to the door of his 
corn crib. It aroused the indignation of the whole 
neighborhood, and the people, in mass meeting assem- 
bled, compelled him to remove it. They held that it 
was a reflection upon the honesty of the neighborhood 
and an insult to the whole community. They freely 
granted that he had a perfect right to lock things from 
his own children in his own house, if he felt so disposed, 
but to turn a key in the face of the whole community 
was a public insult they would not submit to. 

The people of that age had faults, of course, but 
avarice was not one of them. 'No man seemed to be 
making any special eifort to accumulate a fortune. 
Everybody was content to enjoy the blessings of a land 
which literally flowed with milk and honey, without a 
desire to monopolize the world or heap to himself riches 
he could never expect to need in providing himself 
either food or raiment. 

Men occupied government land for years without a 
shadow of a legal title to it. Everybody knew that the 
only right they had to it was, that they had selected it 
and built a house and cleared a farm on it. It was gen- 
erally understood that anybody could file a legal claim 
upon such tracts of land, at the government land office, 
and take them from the claimants with all the improve- 
ments belonging to them, and yet such settlers were 
never molested. The fact that land was more plentiful 
and less valuable then than now does not entirel}^ explain 
it. Men valued such tracts of land then hio:h enouirh 



124 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

to hay them when they eoukl have taken them by hiw 
for nothing hy simply tiling claims on them. 

There was simply less greed for gain then than now. 
People had not yet learned to make a display of wealth. 
The richest could only use what they could eat and 
wear, and the poorest could easily gather that much 
from bountiful nature by a little labor.' 

That was an age of sociability, equality, hospitality 
and general neighborliness. Our dependence upon each 
other drew us close together. Many things in our 
work required the cond:)ined strength and general co- 
operation of the whole neighborhood, and such occas- 
ions-were always enjoyable social gatherings, as well 
as important business combinations. 

House - raisings, log - rollings and corn - shuckings, 
among the men, and quiltings and picking-bees, among 
the women, often called the entire neighborhood to- 
gether for a day of work and social pleasure. Usually 
there was an agreement between the maternal and 
paternal heads of the household, which brought the 
men and women all together in those co-operative 
workings at the same place on the same day. That is to 
say^ the wife would invite her lady friends to a quilting 
the same day the husband called his neighbor men to 
assist at a log-rolling. While men and boys rolled logs, 
women and girls cooked and quilted, and we all united 
in a kissing frolic or a hoe-down at night. 

The style in which a bridal couple, in good society, 
begin life on leaving the hymeneal altar, is, in all ages 
and countries, an exponent of the customs of the peo- 
ple- This fact gives point to the tollowing story, in this 
connection : 

Matthew Thomison married in our neighborhood 
when I was a boy. He and his bride were members of 



A BRIDAL TOUR. 125 

respectable families, and fair specimens of as good 
society as the country could boast. 

Before the celebration of the marriage, he '' leased " 
a piece of land, which he agreed to clear and fence for 
the privilege of cultivating it three years. He built a 
log cabui, in which he proposed to go to ''keeping 
house," with the help of his prospective bride. When 
their fortunes were united by the holy bonds of matri- 
mony, their available assets consisted of an old blind 
horse, a slide and a few articles of household and 
kitchen furniture wliich the bride received as bridal 
presents from her parents, friends, relatives and well- 
wishers. As the bride was both a beauty and a 
belle, her presents were numerous, and hence the future 
looked bright to the happy pair. 

The next day after the wedding, the old blind horse 
was harnessed, and the bride's goods were packed into 
the slide. The bulk was not large, the load not heavy. 
A bed, an oven, a skillet, a bucket, part of a side of 
meat, a gourd of lard and part of a gourd of sugar 
completed the inventory. The bride and groom took a 
seat on top of the load, and, with a cluck to the horse 
and a hearty good-by to the crowd, started on a short 
bridal tour to the cabin in the woods. 

The country was mountainous and the road was 
rough. About the middle of the journey, as they were 
going down a steep hill, with a considerable slant to the 
leftward, the husband leaned over to give his young 
wife a re-assuring kiss, and just at that critical moment 
the slide ran over a stump on the upper side of the road 
and turned upside down. 

Out they all tumbled, bridal couple on the bottom, 
and bed, sugar, oven, skillet, meat, bucket and slide on 
top. The gourds were smashed, the skillet was broken 



126 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

and bucket, lard, meat and sugar were considerably 
scattered. The old horse would have completed the 
wreck by running away with the slide, if he could have 
seen which way to run. 

There was nothing unusual about this bridal tour 
then, and whatever amusement it may excite now serves 
only to emphasize the changes that have taken place in 
the customs of the country since the days of my boy- 
hood. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



CLEAKING LAND. 

Log-rollings, in whicli main strength and awkward- 
ness were essential elements, were thoroughly charac- 
teristic features of pioneer days. It does seem that, if 
men had anything like genius in those days, they must 
have employed it to think out the hardest way to do 
everything. 

In clearing land, all trees over twelve inches in diam- 
eter were " deadened," all under that size were cut 
down. The deadening process was simply to cut 
around the tree, with an ax, about three feet above the 
ground, a notch from two to three inches deep. Trees 
thus girdled, or "deadened," would decay at the '' dead- 
ening" and fall down about the third or fourth year. 
They were then cut in pieces, piled in heaps and burned. 
All logs on the ground when the land was cTeared had to 
be disposed of in the same way. Piling logs into heaps 
to be burned was called *' log-rolling," and such work 
required the combined strength of the whole neighbor- 
hood. 

The principal implement used at a log-rolling was a 
"hand-spike," which was simply a stick cut from a 
small sapling, usually dog wood, and dressed to proper 
shape with a drawing-knife. It required one "hand- 
spike" to every two men, with a good supply of extras, 
to cover accidents of breakage and other emergencies. 
Such "spikes" were about six feet long and from three 
to four inches in diameter at the middle. The " spike" 
(127) 



128 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




LOG-ROLLING. 129 

tapered gradually from the middle toward each end, 
and at the ends, it measured about an inch in diameter. 

The logs to be "rolled" were from ten to fourteen 
feet long, and many of them from three to four feet in 
diameter. The "hand-spikes" were put under the log 
and the men were arranged on opposite sides of it, a 
man to each end of every " hand-spike ; " and they simpl}' 
lifted it by main strength and carried it to the " log-heap." 
We often carried logs so large that a man could not see 
his partner, at the opposite end of his " hand-spike," 
over the log, when it was lifted up. The "hand- 
spikes" had to be put so close together, to make room 
for men enough to carry the largest logs, that we could 
not step over twelve inches at a time without getting on 
the heels of the man immediately in front of us. 

Such lifting strained every muscle and fiber in the 
body. If any man in the crowd gave down under his 
load, or made an awkward step and stumbled, his fail- 
ure increased the burdens of all the others and literally 
crushed them to the earth. Sometimes the log would 
roll on the sticks as it was lifted, and in such cases the 
men on the side to which it rolled would be compelled 
to give down. When each man had every pound he 
could carry, the merest trifles sometimes produced 
serious results. If a man accidentally stepped into a 
hole, or placed his foot upon a soft spot of ground, his 
misfortune brought disaster upon the whole crowd. 
When he sunk down his load fell upon the others, each 
one of whom already had every ounce he could carry. 
Many a time have I seen a dozen strong men straighten 
up Avith a log which was heavier than they could carry, 
and for several seconds stand under the fearful strain, 
unable to take a single step. To come up steadily with 
such a log, hold it a few breathless seconds, and again 
9 



130 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

lower it steadily to the ground, required nerve as well as 
muscle. If any man had become frightened and sud- 
denly dropped his load, the whole crowd would have 
been instantly crushed to the earth and some one, per- 
haps, caught under the log and fatally injured. When 
one of those immense logs rolled on the sticks, every 
man on the side toward which it turned would put his 
shoulder bravely under it, brace himself for a powerful 
effort, and, putting forth his utmost strength, stand 
like a martyr by his comrades in distress, quivering in 
every muscle and fiber of his body, till the Avord could 
be given and the log steadily lowered to the ground. 
It^ was a rare thing for a man to fail in courage or lose 
his presence of mind in such emergencies. 

The Spring was the log-rolling season. Such work 
usually began in February and continued till about the 
middle of March. As soon as the logs were all rolled 
on one farm, we went to another, and so on, from day 
to day, till all the logs in the neighborhood were rolled. 
We often put in every day in succession, Sundays ex- 
cepted, for a whole month, at such work. 

It was hard work, but it developed some as fine spec- 
imens of physical manhood as the world has ever pro- 
duced. Their grasp of hand, strength of muscle and 
powers of endurance were as far superior to anything 
in this effeminate age, as giants to dwarfs. 

Why it was called log rolling is not easy to under- 
stand. Perhaps the original idea was that the logs 
could be rolled together and burned, but if so, that 
theory was abandoned before the days of my earliest 
recollection. It was always log -lifting^ as far back as I 
can remember. True, we occasionally rolled a log into 
position, but such cases were the exception and not the 
rule. 



HO USE-RAISING. 131 

Houses were all built of logs. When the logs were 
cut and hauled to the place where the house was want- 
ed, the neighbors were requested to come together on a 
set day and put up the building. This was called a 
house-raising. 

In some places the forest was so dense that logs 
enough to build a house could be cut within a few rods 
of the building site. In such cases Ave would carry the 
logs with " hand-spikes," after the manner just describ- 
ed in log-rollings, on the day of the house-raising. 
Some of us would carry logs while others raised the 
building. 

When logs were cut too far from the building site to 
be carried, they were usually dragged to the place with 
a yoke of oxen, hitched by means of a log chain, one 
end of which was tied to the log and the other to the 
ox-yoke. 

We always built a house in a day. That is, we would 
raise the walls, lay the floor and put on the roof. The 
finishing touches of stopping the cracks, building the 
chimney and putting down the hearth were left for the 
owner to attend to in his own way, and at such times 
as suited his convenience. 

The popular size of a house was eighteen feet" wide 
and twenty feet long. To begin at the foundation of a 
house, the first things in order were two side sills, 
placed on blocks of wood or pillars of stone. The sills 
were twenty feet long and usually eighteen inches 
square. Sometimes the size was reduced to twelve or 
fourteen inches square, but it was generally considered 
unsafe to use a smaller sill than eighteen inches. Just 
why it was considered necessary to have such ponder- 
ous pieces of timber for sills in order to make the house 
secure, I am not able to explain. 



132 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

The sleepers, which rested on the sills and supported 
the floor, were round logs about twelve inches in diam- 
eter. They were hewed to a line on top, with a face 
from three to five inches wide, and made to fit the sills 
by a flat notch at each end. 

Floors were all made of either puncheons or dirt. It 
was no unusual thing to leave out the sleepers and use 
the ground for a floor. In fact, when a man was able 
to have two houses, the one used for a kitchen and din- 
ing room almost invariably had a dirt floor. 

Puncheons were broad pieces of timber, split from 
pine or poplar trees, with maul and wedge, and hewed 
to a smooth surface on one side, with a broad-ax. They 
were usually about six feet long, from three to four 
inches thick, and from ten to twenty inches wide. They 
were trimmed at each end with an ax till they fit down 
neatly and solidly on the sleepers, smooth side up, and 
were heavy enough to remain in position, when once 
properly put down, without being fastened in any way. 

Those old puncheon floors were neither air tight nor 
ornamental. The edges of each puncheon were hewed 
to a line with a broad-ax, and when the cracks between 
them did not measure over an inch in width at any 
place, the floor was considered "well-jointed." 

Hens usually made their nests under the cabin floor, 
possibly to be safe with their eggs and little chicks from 
hawks, owls, minks, foxes and other enemies, and the 
ease with which a puncheon could be "raised" was a 
great convenience in getting eggs or looking after the 
newly-hatched brood. 

Before nails came into general use, the cracks l)e- 
tweeen the losrs in the walls of the cabin were " chink- 
ed" with small blocks of wood split for the purpose, 
and " daubed" with mud made from red clay and pi as- 



LOG CABINS. 133 

terecl by hand. The process of " daubing " a house was 
very simple. A man stood near the crack and threw the 
soft mud against the " chink," by handfuls, with snf- 
ficent force to make it stick fast. When a crack was 
thus "daubed," the full length of the house, he would 
press the ends of his fingers against the "daubing," 
after the manner of a brick-layer's trowel, and walk 
rapidly along the house so as to draw his fingers 
over the full length of the crack, thus smoothing 
down the " daubing." It should be explained that the 
words "chink" and "daub" were both used in a local 
technical sense not given them in the dictionaries. To 
"chink" a house was to put blocks of wood, called 
" chinking," in the cracks, and to " daub " it was to 
put the "mud on the " chinking '' in the manner 
described. 

The prints of the fingers were always indelibly 
stamped upon the "daubing" in every crack in 
the house. After nails came into use the cracks 
in houses were stopped by nailing clapboards over 
them. The roof of every house was made of clap- 
boards. A clapboard was simply a piece of riven tim- 
ber, usually oak, four feet long, from four to six inches 
wide and about a half an inch thick. At a later day, cl ap- 
boards were made three feet long, and, in some cases, 
as short as two feet. Before nails came into use, the 
boards were put on the roof by means of "ribs," "but- 
ting-poles," "knees," "end-stufi" and "weight-poles. 
Each of these words had a technical meaning in the 
architecture of that day which cannot be well under- 
stood without some knowledge of the construction of 
log cabins. 

Vhen the walls of the cabin reached the proper 
height, a longer log was i)ut on at each end, which ex- 



134 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

tended about eighteen inches beyond the sides of the 
house at each of the four corners. On the outer ends 
of these long logs were placed two logs extending the 
full length of the house. These logs were called " but- 
ting-poles," and they marked the limit of the eaves. 
On the end-logs the next "round" above the "butting- 
poles," side-logs were placed about two feet out of the 
perpendicular of the side-walls, toward the center of 
the cabin. These logs were called the first " ribs." On 
the first " ribs " rested the next two end-logs, which, of 
course, were shorter than those that had gone before, by 
as much as the first " ribs " were drawn within the per- 
pendicular of the side-walls. These shorter end-logs 
were called "end-stufi"." On them rested two more 
"ribs," which were placed about two feet further out of 
the perpendicular wall, on each sida, tovv^ ard the center of 
the cabin. These were called the second " ribs." Then 
came more " end-stuff"," then more "ribs," and so on till 
the frame of the cabin ended with a " ridge-pole," or 
" center rib," at the cone. 

The first course of clapboards was placed on the first 
" rib " and the top log of the wall of the cabin. The ends 
of the boards extended over the wall about eighteen 
inches and " butted " against the " butting pole," which 
was fastened to the long end-log, on which it rested, by 
wooden pins driven into augur holes. This made the 
eaves. 

When the first course of boards was laid down, sticks, 
of wood, split for the purpose, about two feet long and 
^YQ or six inches square, called "knees," were placed at 
intervals along the course of boards, with one end rest- 
ing, at right angles, against the " butting-pole." A log, 
called a "weight-pole," was next laid the full length of 
the house, on this first course of boards, just above the 



WOODEN CHIMNEYS. 135 

upper ends of the ''knees." This "weight-pole" hehl 
the hoards in position and served as a "hutting-pole " 
for the next course of hoards and row of "knees," and 
was itself held in position hy the row of "knees" 
against which it rested. In hke manner came course 
after course of hoards, with "knees" and "weight- 
poles," as just descrihed, till the roof was finished with 
a cone at the "ridge-pole," or top "rih." The gahle 
ends were closed up with " end-stult," which was a nec- 
essary part of the frame-work of the roof. When nails 
came into use, " knees," "weight-poles" and "hutting- 
poles" were dispensed with, and the hoards nailed to 
the " rihs." In a few years more even the " rihs " Avere 
supplanted hy the more " stylish " rafters and lathing. 
The heating apparatus was a large open fire-place in 
one end of the cahin. Ordinarily such a fire-place 
was ahout five feet long, two feet deep and live 
feet high. The chimney was built of wood and lined 
with mud, made of red clay. When the mud got thor- 
oughly dry it was as hard as hrick. The fire-place was 
lined— hottom, back and sides — with large flat rocks. 
The top of the fire-place, in front, was simply the first 
log of the cahin wall, ahove the opening cut for the fire- 
place. This log had to he high enough not to catch fire, 
and hence was fully five feet ahove the level of the 
hearth, or bottom of the tire-place. The fire was sim- 
ply an immense heap of wood, or rather logs, as long 
as the fire-place and as large as a man coukl carry. A 
log of unusual size was always put in the back of the 
fire-place, and the rest of the wood was piled about it in 
front. Those back-logs were often too large to be carried, 
and were rolled into the cabin and to their place at the 
back of the fire-place. A good back-log would last a day 
and a night. When the nights were very cold, we sup- 



136 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

plemented our scant supply of bed-covering by keeping 
up a roaring log fire all niglit. 

The idea of a carpet of any kind bad not entered 
into the mind of the most far-seeing inhabitant of the 
country, and the cold wind gushed up through the 
numerous cracks in those old puncheon floors with a 
vigor that kept up a continual coolness in the family 
circle. Above our heads there was nothing but the 
thin clapboard roof between us and the freezing elements, 
and throuo;h innumerable crevices in it the cold snow 
and chilling winds sifted down on us practically with- 
out hindrance. Many a time I found fully two inches 
of snow on my bed, at the back end of the cabin, when 
I awoke in the morning, even when a booming log Are 
had been kept up in the fire-place, at the other end of 
the house, all night. 

A cabin usually had one door and one window, the 
shutter to each of which was made of rough clapboards 
fastened together with wooden pins driven into auger 
holes. There was not an ordinary pane of glass in the 
whole country. In the shutters of door and window 
were more crevices through which the cold found easy 
access to the shivering, suflering, defenseless household. 
In fact there seemed to be just warmth enough inside 
of those thoroughly ventilated huts to attract all the 
cold blasts an the country for miles around. The inside 
of every cabin was, therefore, nothing but a huge mass of 
concentrated winter weather and suffering humanity. 

In building the immense log fires, we would occasion- 
ally jar portions of the mud lining out of the old stick 
chimney, leaving the bare wood exposed to the fire. 
The heat and sparks would often fire the thoroughly 
dry and highly combustible timber thus exposed, and 
hence the fire department of the household was liable 



FIRE ALARM. 137 

to be called out at any hour of the day or night, espe- 
cially in A'ery cold weather. 

Those old-time log cahins were always supplied with 
water from a living spring, which, from some inexpli- 
cable reason, was always at least two hundred yards 
away and invariably at the foot of a steep and rugged 
hill from one hundred to three hundred feet below the 
level of the cabin floor. We had to pack every drop of 
water we used up those long, steep and rugged hills, in 
heavy, home-made, wooden buckets. Why every body 
would insist on building a house on the very top of the 
highest, steepest and roughest hill in the country, from 
two hundred yards to a quarter of a mile from the 
spring that was depended upon for every drop of water 
needed about the house, is, with me, one of the unsolv- 
ed mysteries of that wooden -headed age, to this good 
day. Or why we never took advantage of the element- 
ary principles of common sense which were accepted by 
Solomon and Jacob, and indeed by many benighted 
heathen nations, when they dug wells and built cisterns, 
centuries before our day, is a profound mystery to me yet. 

The chimney was sure to catch on fire the coldest 
night of the season. We always built a big fire in 
severe weather, and a big fire was usually what burned 
a chimney. 

To be aroused from sweet dreams by the shrill scream 
of a female fire alarm, at midnight, in mid-winter, when 
the ground was covered with snow and the path to the 
spring, paved with a solid sheet of ice, w^as an ex- 
perience far more frequent than pleasant in the days of 
my boyhood. Of course there was never a drop of 
water nearer than the spring in such an emergency, for 
in extremely cold weather we always emptied the water 
buckets when we retired at night, lest the water should 



138 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE, 

freeze in tliem and burst them to staves. To hastily 
jump out of a warm bed, jerk on a few articles of cloth- 
ing, seize a water bucket, plunge into the middle of a 
night as dark as the bottomless pit and as cold as the 
]^orth pole, and grope your way down the rugged hill, 
over a continuous sheet of slippery ice, after a bucket 
of water, to check the mad fury of destructive flames, 
was not calculated to develop piety or encourage religion 
in a boy of my temperament. The boy who could, 
under such circumstances, run himself completely out 
of breath, with a heavy load of water, up a steep hill, 
slip on the ice just as he reached the top of the hill, 
turn his bucket up-side down and convert his improvis- 
ed fire engine into a shower bath, without pulling the 
stop-cock of his profanity wide open, was a living contra- 
diction of the dogma of original sin and a walking spec- 
imen of the doctrine of the final perseverance of the 
saints. 

The funnel of a wooden chimney was simply a pen 
about two feet square, built of small sticks. Sometimes 
the sticks were round poles with a flat notch at each 
end, so that they would fit together steadily, but oftener 
they were narrow, riven slats, about an inch thick by 
two inches wide. When all other eflbrts failed to stop 
a fire in a chimney, the last resort was to climb up the 
wall of the hut and push the chimney down. The 
strength of a boy was sufficient to push oft* the whole 
top of a chimney, but such heroic measures were 
always the dernier resort. 

The first improvement we made upon those rude log 
huts, in the architecture of our homes, was to build 
hewed-log houses. We used whip-sawed lumber for 
floors and put on clapboard roofs with rafters, lathing 
and nails. We made doors of whip-sawed lumber, hung 



HEWING LOGS. 139 

them with iron hinges made in the hlacksmith shop and 




pnt "store-honc^lit " locks and hrass knobs on them. 



140 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

We put joists ill the house, and Laid a loft, and Luilt stairs 
of whip-sawed lumber. AVe daubed the cracks with 
mortar, made of lime and sand, smoothed them over 
with a trowel, while the mortar was soft, and neatly 
white- washed them when thoroughly dry. We built 
stone chimneys, put in glass windows, talked about the 
great and rapid improvements the world was mak- 
ing, and began to look for the dawn of the millen- 
nium. 

But such improvements only increased our labors. 
To prepare logs enough to build ahewed-log house was 
the work of many days. And harder work no man has 
ever done than to fell trees and hew house-logs. A 
broad-ax is an ugly looking tool, and the man who has 
used it properly and industriously will not say that it 
looks any uglier than it really is. It is heavy, unwieldy 
and dangerous. It requires much strength and consid- 
erable practice to handle it successfully and with safety. 
Many a poor man has gashed his foot, knee or shin most 
dreadfully, and made himself a cripple for life, in try- 
ins: to learn to use a broad-ax. 

In the days of liewed-log houses, we had to hew every 
sill, every log, eveiy sleeper, every plate and every joist 
that went into a building. There was not a saw-mill in 
the country. We hewed everything, except the small 
amount of lumber sawed by liand with a whip-saw. 

We would fell a tree, "scalp " it, " line " it, " score it 
in," and then " hew to the line and let the chips foil 
where they would." To prepare the logs, saw the floor- 
ing and build a hewed-log house was not the work of a 
few days. Such an enterprise often occupied months. 
We could not neglect the crop or fall l>ehind with the 
clearing, to build fine houses. We only devoted such 



FIXE HOUSES. 141 

time as we could spare from the many other duties that 
daily pressed upon us, to improving our homes. Often 
the very hottest days of summer, when we were not en- 
gaged in the crop or pushed with a piece of clearing, 
would be devoted to the heavy work of hewing logs in 
the forest. In such work we were, fortunately, protect- 
ed from the heat of the sun by the shade of the forest 
trees, but often the impenetrable thickets completely 
shut out every particle of refreshing breeze. Many a 
day have I seen men wield a broad-ax under such cir- 
cumstances till every thread of clothing on them would 
be as wet with perspiration as if they had swum a 
river. Scores of times have I seen them strip them- 
selves and wring quarts of perspiration out of their 
clothing. I have seen them hang their perspiration- 
soaked shirts in the sun to dry while they toiled on 
without them for hours in succession. I have known 
their clothing to sour, mildew and be fly-blown under 
such circumstances. And all this of white men too. 
There were but few slaves in the country then. 

But why say I have seeyi all this? Why say they 
were white men ? Have I not experienced it ? Was I not 
there? Did I not wield a broad-ax? Was I not one 
of them in every sense ? Ah, those days of arduous 
toil and pioneer hardships ! How can I ever forget 
them? My work is well-nigh done; my race is nearly 
run; my course is almost finished; my journey is about 
to end. But, with labor and suffering no pen can de- 
scribe, I cheerfully contributed what I could, along with 
the now rapidly perishing generation of pioneers, 
towards laying the foundation of the wealth and great- 
ness of the best country this world has ever known, 
and I am profoundly thankful that it was my privilege 
to bear an humble part in such noble work. 



142 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



The first real 
sawed lumber we 
ever had was 
manufactured by 
hand with a whip- 
saw. It took two 
men to operate 
those pri m i t i V e 
machines for the 
manufact u r e of 
lumber. A hole 
was dug in the 
ground, over 
which a crude scaf- 
f o 1 d was built. 
The saw-log was 




A PRIMITIVE SAW MILL. 



WHIP-SAWS. 143 

put on the scaftbld, and one man stood in the pit below 
the log while the other one stood on the scaffold. The 
loo- was first hewed to a square with a broad-ax, and 
then " lined " on the upper and lower sides at every place 
where it was to be sawed. The men then drew the saw 
up and down through the log along the line, sawing off 
one plank, or board, about every hour. Two first-class 
men would saw as much as two hundred feet of lumber 
in a day. 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE HARD WORK OF WOMEN. 

Hitherto no mention has been made of some of the 
hardest work that women had to do. To wash and 
iron the clothing in which men did such work as has 
been described, was a weekly task, for the women ol" 
every household, of no ordinary magnitude. There 
were no steam-laundries then. There was not even a 
washing machine or a wringer of any kind. The com- 
bined inventive genius of the whole country had not so 
much as conceived the idea of a simple scrub-board. 

The washing-place for our whole neighborhood was 
a Avell-shaded spot on the bank of a living stream of 
clear, soft water, in a grove of mammoth beech trees. 
The trunks of those aged trees were thickly carved with 
names, dates and awkward rhymes. By sach inscrip- 
tions every love-sick swain in the country had, for 
many years, declared the state of his affections and 
given a specimen of awkward wu-iting, bad spelling and 
bungling grammar. It was the ambition of every lover 
to carve, on those old beech trees, his name, the date, 
and a ridiculous rhyme which set forth the fact that he 
was desperately in love, but did not reveal the name of 
his heart's idol. Such inscriptions were carved morn- 
ings, evenings and Sundays. At all other times, the 
place was occupied by women and girls engaged in the 
week's washing, and those melancholy lovers always 
carved their tender inscriptions in solitude. 

It is not difficult to understand why lovers delighted 
(144) 



THE OLD WASHING-PLAGE. 145 

to put such inscriptions there. Every girl in the whole 
neighborhood spent at least one clay in each week at 
the w^ashing place, and there was comfort to the heart 
of every true but modest lover in the thought that she 
will see my name and read my rhyme and know whom 
/ love. 

The boys who were too small to work in the field had 
to help the girls with the washing. I look back to the 
days I spent with my sisters under those old beech 
trees in balmy Spring, sultry Summer and melancholy 
Autumn, as among the happiest of my life at the old 
homestead. My duties were not hard, my surroundings 
were pleasant and my sisters were indulgent. 

The washing process was very simple. The clothes 
were first well smeared with soft soap and then thor- 
oughly boiled in a large washing-kettle. They were 
then taken out of the boiling water, laid on a bench 
and vigorously pounded with a heavy paddle. This was 
called " battling," which is another instance of a word 
misused. The pounding, or ''battling," could be heard 
fully a quarter of a mile. When the clothes were thor- 
oughly beaten, they were put into a tub of hot water, 
and again smeared with soft soap. The w^asher-w^oman 
then rubbed them vigorously between her bare knuckles, 
after which they were put into another kettle of clear 
water and thoroughly boiled again. When taken out 
of boiling water the second time they were put into a 
tub of clear, cold water and all the soap w^as thor- 
oughly washed out of them. The water was then 
w^rung out of them, and they were liung in the sun to 
dry. 

It was the work of the small boy to keep the kettles 
filled with water, carry w^ood, keep up the fires, and do 
all the " battling," while his sisters stood over the tub 
10 



146 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

and did the rubbing. But my sisters were never exact- 
ing. The brook was well supplied with mountain trout 
and speckled perch, and I knew w^ell the art of making 
" pin-hooks" with a pebble for a " sinker." I half sus- 
pect, now, that they were willing enough at times to do 
my work while I fished, in order that they might have 
the better chance to read the latest inscriptions on those 
old beech trees, unobserved. I doubt not but that they 
often bent over the wash-tub with a new joy at their 
hearts, a flush on their cheeks, a qniver in their breath 
and nnshed tears of delight in their eyes, because of 
some new names and awkward rhymes they found on 
the old beech trees while I sat on the mossy bank of the 
babbling brook, under the honey-suckle bushes, lazily 
dipping my bare feet into the water, softly singing an 
accompaniment to the music- of the bees among the 
flowers above me, and patiently holding my little pin- 
hook for a " bite." 

Ah, well ! It is all gone by forever now, but as I sit 
here by my desk in the midst of a crowded city to-night, 
hundreds of miles trom the old homestead, and look 
back over the dreary stretch of weary years to the time 
when I fished with a pin-hook in the little brook nnder 
the old beech trees at the neighborhood washing-place, 
I wish, with all the fervency of a lonely heart, that I 
could once more see the old place, just as it was then, 
and enjoy a few hours of sweet companionship with the 
old-time friends and acquaintances, surrounded by the 
scenery familiar to my boyhood, before I go to my long 
home. 

But I look back to some other experiences of boyhood 
life at the old homestead, with far less pleasure. I have 
no desire to dwell upon them. It is with no feelings of 
pleasure that I recall them now, and I fain would leave 



MAKING SOFT SOAP. 147 

them in the oblivion to which they were long since 
cheerfully consigned, but for a feeling of obligation to 
the reader, to give a faithful description of life in this 
country, just as it was in the years long gone by. 

There was not even so much as an ounce of soap in 
the whole country, except that which the women made. 
Every home had a miniature soap factory in which the 
women of the household made soap enough every 
Spring to answer all the purposes of the family during 
the year. 

The essential ingredients of soft soap were alkali and 
grease. All the bones from the bacon, beef and pork 
used by the family during the year, and all the refuse 
scraps of meat of every kind, were carefully saved for 
soap-grease. Even the entrails of hogs and beeves were 
often cleaned, cooked and preserved, for the same x^ur- 
pose. All this made more work and menial drudgery for 
women and small boys. 

Those who consider " a hog killing time" simply a 
feast ot fat things and a season of unalloyed pleasure, 
certainly do not base their opinion upon a small boy's 
experience, on such occasions, in this country, more than 
half a century ago. It requires a more brilliant imagina- 
tion than I possess, to extract a high order of enjoyment 
from the drudgery of converting the internal improve- 
ments of a score of hogs into soap-grease, in the open 
air, exposed to wind and weather, when the thermome- 
ter was crawling down towards zero, and sleet, rain and 
snow were alternately pelting my shivering, poorly-clad 
little body. 

We first had to tediously cut from the mass all the fat 
we could, with knives, to make lard, and then the 
entrails had to be cut into small pieces, emptied of their 
contents, put into old buckets, carried to the creek. 



148 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

thoroughly washed and packed back home, to be cook- 
ed for soap-grease. This was my work in " a hog-kill- 
ing time," during the days of my far-away boyhood. 
In such work I had to hunch myself and shiver over 
the nauseating heap on the ground for hours at a time. 
And then I had to take an old bucket, heavily loaded 
with such stuff, on my shoulder, plod my weary way, 
through wind and cold, to the far-ofi spring branch 
under the hill, and there sit and dabble in the freezing 
water till the mass was thoroughly cleaned. I leave the 
reader to imagine my opinion of a "hog killing time" 
when, on my way to the spring branch, with such a load, 
I would stumble, as occasionally I did, capsize my ves- 
sel and pour its offensive contents on my head and over 
every part of my body. ITothing but the leper's cry of 
"Unclean, unclean, unclean" will express my idea of a 
small boy's part in an old-fashioned " hog-killing time ! " 
The alkali used in making soft soap was obtained 
from the ashes which accumulated in those large, old- 
fashioned fire-places during the cold season. An ash- 
hopper was an indispensable article of out-door furniture 
in every home. Imagine four sticks cut from saplings, 
forked at the top, driven into the ground, about four 
feet apart, in the form of a scpiare, and about three and 
a half feet high. Such sticks were about as large as a 
man's ankle. Other sticks, about the same size, were 
laid in the forks of these posts, forming a square frame. 
Half of a hollow log, making a trough, was placed on 
the ground across the middle of the square frame, and 
inclined, by a rock under one end, sufficiently to cause 
water to flow down it with considerable alacrity. Clap- 
boards were then set in the square frame, one end in the 
trough and the other supported by the frame, so as to 
make a sort of triangular box, of which the trough 



THE OLD ASII-IIOPPER. 149 

formed an acute angle and the clapboards, two sides. 
Each side of the hopper inclined at an angle of about 
forty-five degrees. The top of this box, or hopper, was 
either left open entirely, or covered with loose boards, 
and the ends, each of which was triangular in shape, 
were closed up with clapboards. Such was the old-time 
ash-hopper wdiich stood in the yard near every cabin. 

The ashes were put into this hopper as they accumu- 
lated in the fire-place during the cold season. When 
the time came to make soap, in early Spring, we had to 
carry water — from the spring of course — and pour into 
the hopper till it soaked down through the ashes and 
ran out at the lower end of the trough, strongly tinct- 
ured with alkali. To carry all that w^ater for the ash- 
hopper, was more work for the women and boys of the 
household. It took about one hundred buckets of water 
to soak all the alkali out of a hopper of ashes. 

The alkali was put into a pot, or kettle, and boiled 
down to a very strong solution. Grease was then add- 
ed, and the mixture was boiled dow^n to the consistency 
of thick paste, when the soap was ready for use. 

The corn-shuckings of those days were occasions of 
neighborhood gatherings of no ordinary importance. 
We ahvays shucked every ear of corn before putting 
it into the crib. We hauled it and threw it in a heap, on 
the ground beside the crib, and then called the neigh- 
bors together for a corn-shucking. 

We usually began the shucking in the afternoon, and 
continued till toward the middle of the night. This 
was necessary, as a matter of economy in time. At 
that season of the year, ^ve were always greatly pressed 
with w^ork, and could ill-afibrd to spare day-light for 
such co-operative workings. 

When the nights were dark, we built scaffolds around 



150 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




AN OLD-FASHIONED CORN SHUCKING. 151 

the corn-heap, covered them with dirt or a flat rock, 
and built liglits oil thorn, of pine knots. Three or four 
scattblds well supplied and frequently replenislied with 
ffood fat pine knots, would light up the grounds for 
several rods around the corn-heap, almost as bright as 
day A small boy would keep up the blazing fires on 
the scaffolds, which would furnish all the light the 

workers needed. .111 

The corn was thrown into the crih as it was shucked, 
and the shucks were stowed away in rail pens, built 
for them, by the small boys, to be fcd to the cows dur- 
ing the winter. , 1 • 1 

The crowd was always divided, at a corn-shuckmg, by 
two men, who threw for "heads or tails," with a sdver 
coin, for first choice of shuckers. The corn-heap was 
also divided into two parts, as nearly equal as could be 
determined by guess and measurement, and the "cap- 
tains" of the two squads of shuckers again threw tor 
"heads or tails," for choice of sides. The work then 
began, and from start to finish the shucks flew m every 
direction and the clean ears of corn fairly rained into 
the crib The rivalry between the two squads ot 
shuckers would grow more interesting and exciting 
as the divided heap of corn gradually melted away, 
and sometimes the intense determination of both par- 
ties to win in the race, would lead to charges of unfair- 
ness, angry recriminations and a general fisticutt. 
When it came to a general row and a free fight, every 
fellow stood to his post and fought for his party, buch 
fights were fierce, but short, and when they ended every 
man resumed his place at the corn-heap and proceeded 
with his work, with renewed energy, without any teel- 
ino- of malice or fear of an enemy in Ins heart. 

Corn-shucking was dusty work, and the shuckers re- 



152 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

quired much water, as well as a liberal supply of a 
stronger beverage, to allay tlieir oft-recurring tliirst. 
But we lost no time in drinking. 

One man was always appointed to carry tlie beverage 
to the men around the corn-heap. He took them in 
regular order, and handed the drink to each man, as he 
came to them, in a small tin cup. When the race was 
close and the excitement was very high, a man would 
not even stop shucking long enough to swallow the 
drink, but would gulp down the beverage, without the 
loss of a second, while the waiter held the cup to his 
mouth. 

"Whenever a boy or a young man found a red ear of 
corn, he put it into his pocket, and when he went to the 
house, after the shucking was over, he presented it to 
the girl of his choice, and for this simple act of gallant- 
ry he was permitted to kiss her publicly. I took a sol- 
emn vow, then, that, if I ever lived to be a man, I would 
farm for a living, raise nothing but corn, plant only red 
seed and shuck every ear of it myself! But alas ! Times 
have changed and red corn has lost its charm ! 

The quiltings of the long ago deserve a place in these 
reminiscences. They were simply feminine accompani- 
ments of log-rollings, house-raisings and corn-shuck- 
ings. Wheresoever the men and boys were gathered 
together, to roll logs, raise a house or shuck corn, there 
would the women and girls be also, engaged in a quilt- 
ing. 

When the corn was shucked and the quilting was 
done, the lads and lasses joined in a midnight revel 
in kissing plays or a lively hoe-down, older women 
related their experiences with ghosts and discussed 
the signs which, to them, betokened the near ap- 
proach of the end of the world, and men who had 



QUILTING. 



153 



,o„<. since past the courting period o joyous jou , 
v"t"ched tlio winsome maidens and gallant bcanx with 
ioning eyes, and loudly applauded the kissmg ehmax 

"'oSfn'' was a tedious business. The whole cpiilt had 

to be d^ely stitched, by hand, with seams about an 

nch apart To arrange the quilt so that the women 

advantages in their 
work, it was sewed to 
frames, or four slats of 
wood, and " hung," by 




._^=5;_;;:;5as2=£»<-«fe 



QUILTING. 

means of four ropes, one end of each of which was tied 
to a corner of the frame and the other to a " nb at the 
roof of the cabin. The women were then seated 
around the quilt, on chairs, stools, or ""S l'<^"'= 'f ' ^^ 
close together as they could comfortably sit, on all the 

four sides of it. 1 1 i ^^ 

The height of the quilt, above the floor, could be leg- 
ulated bylengthening or shortening the ropes by which 



154 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

it was " hung." It had to he on a level with the hreasts 
of the quilters when they were seated around it. Each 
woman passed one arm under the quilt and guided the 
point of her needle with her fingers heneath, while she 
extended the other arm as far as she could reach over 
the top of the quilt and manipulated the other end of 
the needle with her fingers ahove. She sat the first 
seam, or row of stitches, as far from the frame as she 
could reach, toward the center of the quilt, and each 
succeeding seam about an inch nearer the frame, till she 
finished the first "shell." When all the "shells" on 
the four sides of the frame were " quilted," they rolled 
the part thus finished around the frames and proceeded 
with the second row of " shells,^ and so on till the 
work was ended with the last "shells" in the middle ot 
the quilt. 

It was a hard day's work, for about ten women, to 
quilt one quilt. The quilts were all made of small 
pieces of cloth, of various colors, cut from remnants of 
goods, and worn-out garments, and stitched together on 
some uniform pattern, with an eye to beauty and regu- 
larity as well as comfort. The lining was home-made 
goods, and the padding between quilt and lining, which 
gave weight and warmth to the quilt, was cotton bat- 
ting carded by hand. 

For an average woman to make the lining, card the 
batting, cut and sew the pieces together and quilt the 
quilt, required at least two months close work. A com- 
fort, which is far superior to such quilts in point of 
both beauty and warmth, can now be bought for about 
two dollars. E"othing of the kind could then be bought 
at any price. 

AVe knew nothing of insurance companies, of the 
modern kind, but every heart glowed with a sympathy for 



FIRE INSURANCE COMPANIES. 155 

misery and a fellowship for misfortune, wliicli effectual- 
ly guarded all of us against ill-luck and accidents, to the 
full extent of our united ability. We were neighbors, 
and the trouble of one was the sorrow of us all. When 
one suffered loss we all lamented, and a personal calam- 
ity was a neighborhood misfortune. 

It goes without saying that our crude homes, with 
w^ooden chimneys and huge log fires, were frequently 
burned. But when a home was consumed by flames, 
the neighborhood came together as one man, and not 
a soul left the spot till another house was built and the 
unfortunate neighbor was comfortably settled in a new 
house as bountifully furnished as was the old one. 

We could easily cut the logs, hew the puncheons, 
raise the house, rive the boards and build the chimney 
in a day and a night in such an emergency. And when 
we came together to build a house, in such a case, each 
man brought a gift in the w^ay of furniture for the new 
home. One man would bring a gourd of lard, another, 
a side of meat, others would bring quilts, articles of 
clothing, cooking vessels, w^ater buckets, chairs, stools, 
soap, cards and dining-table furniture. 

The women and children of the unfortunate family 
would be taken to the home of the nearest neighbor, and 
there the women and girls of the whole neighborhood 
would assemble and work, and plan, and weep w^ith and 
for, the sufferers, while the new home was being built 
by the men and boys of the neighborhood. A list of 
articles needed, to complete the furniture of the new 
home, would be made out, and such as the neighbors 
could not give, the women would 7nake. 

My father's house burned about the middle of one 
cold night in December. Notwithstanding the severity 
of the weather, by sun-down the second day after the 



156 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

fire, and before the place where the old house sat had 
cooled off or quit smoking, we were all comfortably 
housed in a new cabin, with as much furniture as we 
lost in the fire. 

About fifteen miles from [N'ashville, Tennessee, on the 
Lebanon turnpike, stands an old-fashioned hewed-log 
house. It is built of cedar logs, two stories high, and is 
well preserved, notwithstanding its age. 

The land on which it stands was deeded to Robert 
Mitchell, August 7, 1767, by the State of North Caro- 
lina. The number of the deed is 417. The land is now 
the property of C. C. H. Burton, a descendant of Mr. 
Mitchell, and it has been in the possession of his ances- 
tors since the date of the original grant. Mr. Burton's 
mother is yet living, and is now in her ninety-second 
year. 

Thomas Everett, another descendant of Robert Mitch- 
ell, has some of the receipts given to Mr. Mitchell 
by the State of North Carolina, which show that the 
land was paid for in cloth and corn. Mr. Mitchell came 
from Ireland to this country. He was a weaver by trade, 
and he and his wife are buried on the place. The first 
house which Mr. Mitchell built is now used by Mr. 
Burton for a kitchen. It was built before the land was 
paid for, and is therefore more than a hunch^ed years 
old. 

The two-story, hewed-log house in which Mr. Burton 
now lives, was built for a hotel, or stage stand, in the 
old staging days, and was used for that purpose until 
the railroad was built and the old stage line, between 
Knoxville and Nashville, was abandoned. 

At this old hotel John A. Murrell, the celebrated 
robber, murderer and slave-trader, spent many nights. 
Here, too, Sam Houston, the distinguished Tennesseean 



AN OLD COUNTRY TAVERN. 157 

who figured so conspiciiouslj in Texas politics, and 
about whose early life there hangs a great domestic, 
mystery, spent a night soon after he separated from 
his young bride, en route to Texas. ' 

Andrew Jackson, Felix Grundy, James K. Polk, 
John Bell and many other men of national reputation 
and world-wide fame, spent many nights in this old 
tavern. 

The indictment and trial of Aaron Burr, for treason, 
is one of the most celebrated cases in the judicial history 
of the United States. The connection of Andrew 
Jackson with this celebrated case has been severely crit- 
icised by some, satisfactorily explained by others and 
extensively discussed by all. But it is not known by 
many people that Mr. Burr spent two nights at the old 
log tavern, which still stands near the Lebanon and 
I^ashville turnpike, about fifteen miles from Nashville, 
on his journey to and from the Hermitage, to consult 
Mr. Jackson about that celebrated case and other im- 
portant matters connected with the lives of those two 
eminent men, and the early political history of the 
United States. 

There lives to-day an aged woman, in that old log 
tavern, who was a sprightly little girl about seven years 
of a2:e, when the distin2:uished Aaron Burr was a truest 
at the wayside inn. 

The husband of this remarkable woman died a few 
years ago at the age of ninety-six years. She has one 
brother yet living, who is seventy-five years old, and 
two sisters, one of whom is. seventy-one and the other 
seventy-eight years of age. They are all in good health 
and remarkably well preserved. 

She still lives in the simple style of olden times, and 
takes no particular interest in modern progress and im- 



158 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

provements. She has her cards and wheel, and she 
spends her thue knitting as industriously as if the com- 
fort of a whole family depended upon her labor. 

The day she was ninety-one years old, she brought 
out her cards and wheel, and spent much of the day 
in carding and spinning. She is simply a petrified 
specimen of life as it was in this country seventy or 
eighty years ago. 

Her son is a well-to-do stock farmer, and, withal, a 
man of considerable general information. He has 
traveled extensively in America and Europe, and he 
converses intelligently on all the leading topics of pub- 
lic interest. He has remodeled the old hewed-log house, 
and furnished it in modern style, except the one room 
of his revered mother. He values the original old 
hewed-log walls very highly as sacred family relics, but 
he has so changed their appearance, by modern im- 
provements, as to make his home both convenient and 
comfortable, and, at the same time, effectually protect 
the liistoric walls against decay. . 

In this old country home, surrounded by an excellent 
farm in a high state of cultivation, and amply provided 
with everything essential to her comfort, it is interest- 
ing to see this aged woman working away at her knit- 
ting as if her labor was the mainstay of the whole 
plantation. Her crude furniture, simple habits, untir- 
ing industry and rigid economy, in the midst of all the 
comforts and conveniences of an ordinary Tennessee 
country home of these modern times, clearly display the 
striking contrast between the old and the new order of 
things. She lives more in the past than in the present. 
The roar of the rusliing train, the clatter of patent 
binders and the shrill whistle of steam engines are 
noticed only because they disturb her reveries about the 



MARKS OF THE TOMAHAWK. 159 

howl of wolves, the scream of panthers or the hum of 
wheels, in the long ago, when she helped to lay and 
execute the plans of great industrial enterprises. 

She was a contemporary of the Indians, and she re- 
members where they marked certain trees on the place, 
for purposes of their own, by hacking the.ni with their 
tomahawks. A few years ago, some men on the place 
chopped into those old marked trees and found the 
hacks of the tomahawks fully four inches under the 
bark. The bark on the trees had grown over those old 
Indian marks, and all outward traces of them had long 
since disappeared. 

In the days of her girlhood there was scarcely a house 
nearer the old tavern than JS'ashville, and hardly more 
than a country village there. The old two-story hewed- 
log tavern was a famous building throughout the coun- 
try, and its erection was a business enterprise which dis- 
tinguished her ancestor as a capitalist and a man of big 
schemes and reckless expenditures. The building, when 
completed, was leased in turn to Ramsey Y. Mason, 
John I. Hooper and Robert Helm. These men all dis- 
tinguished themselves as capable managers of immense 
business schemes, by leasing and successfully running 
the celebrated, two-story hewed-log tavern on the ^STash- 
ville and Knoxville stage line. It was no ordinary en- 
terprise to manage a hotel in which Presidents and 
Vice-Presidents lodged in those days. It is true that a 
common commercial traveler would protest against 
such hotel fiire now as Aaron Burr considered first-class 
then, but the landlord of to-day has facilities, at slight 
expense, for making his guests comfortable, such as 
money could not buy at any price eighty years ago. 

It is difficult to imagine the President or Vice-Presi- 
dent of the United States putting up at a wayside tav- 



160 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

ern, built of logs, only two low stories high, with only 
six rooms to answer all purposes of kitchen, dining 
room, landlord's family room, guest chambers, sitting 
room, parlor, office and bar-room. Fortunately, the 
rooms were all large, though low, and well suppHed 
with beds. . Four beds in a room and two guests in a 
bed was an economical arrangement well calculated to 
encourage sociability among travelers and strangers, as 
well as to make a remarkably small number of rooms 
accommodate a suprisingly large number of guests. It 
would be a sample of democratic familiarity inconsist> 
ent with our ideas of propriety now-a-days, to put the 
President of the United States in a room, at a public 
hotel, with seven other men who were entire strangers 
to him; but that only shows how far we have drifted 
from our original moorings of primitive simplicty. It 
seems almost sacrilegious to think of a common trav- 
eler and utter stranger sleeping with the President, or 
even the Vice-President of the United States at a coun- 
try tavern now, but this only illustrates the w^ide difter- 
ence between old styles and modern customs. To my 
mind, there is something really fascinating in the old 
order of things. There is a novelty, which is really re- 
freshing, in the idea of a common clodhopper and 
rank stranger jamming his knees against the small of 
His Excellency's back, in the middle of a cold night, as 
he gave the cover a vigorous yank and said : Hello, Mr. 
President, can't you let the cover come this way a few 
inches ? 

A few weeks ago I visited that old house and con- 
versed for several hours with the family who occupy it, 
about its remarkable history. There is not a doubt in 
my mind as to the accuracy of every statement of fact 
here given concerning it. 



THE WILDERNESS. 161 

There are many old people now living in the vicinity 
of this old house, who know its history as a popular 
tavern on the I^ashville and Knoxville stage line before 
the days of railroads. This was the route mostly trav- 
eled from all the country West and Southwest to Vir- 
ginia and the Carolinas. It was also the principal stage 
line connecting all this western country with the seat 
of government, and distinguished lawyers, politicians, 
government officials and military commanders were,' 
therefore, frequent guests at the old wayside inn. From' 
this tavern to Virginia, the whole country was called 
''the wilderness," in those days, and old negroes who 
made the journey with their masters seventy years ago 
evidently think there is still a vast stretch of dense for- 
ests and unbroken cane-brakes, inhabited by hostile In- 
dians and ferocious wild beasts, between them and their 
old Virginia homes. 
11 



CHAFTEE X. 



THE OLD BAR-SHARE. 

In preparing newly-cleared land for the plow, we first 
piled the large brush in heaps, and then carefully raked 
the whole face of the earth with little wooden hand- 
rakes, such as we used in gardening, till all the small 
twigs, and even the leaves, were gathered in piles, to 
be burned. 

Of course all such trash ought to have been plowed 
under, to enrich the land, but it required more sense 
than the whole population of the country possessed, to 
master such a self-evident proposition as that. 

We had but one kind of plow and that was called a 
bar-share. It was a profanity-provoking old fraud, with 
a long iron share and a wooden moldboard. When it 
struck a rock, stump or other solid substance, the han- 
dles >would fly up with a quick jerk, and drop back with 
a vigorous punch. As they went up, they would almost 
invariably catch you under the chin and snap your teeth 
together like a rat trap; and as they came down, they 
rarely failed to give you a dig in the stomach which 
would knock the last prop from under your tottering 
piety and leave you gasping for breath and lamenting 
the poverty of your vocabulary. When it came to a 
root, it gave you no warning at all, but slowly sneaked 
under the thing so far that you had to back your team 
into the snow-banks of last winter, to get it out. When 
it found a root that was weak and yielding enough to 
serve its impious purpose, it would creep cautiously under 

{{(52) 



OLD- TIME FARMING. 163 

it, stretching it to its utmost tension, till the team per- 
ceptibly slackened speed. You would then strike your 
horses with the whip, they would make an extra surge, 
the root would snap, the old bar-share would slip 
tlirough the rent, and both ends of tlie broken root 
would come back at your defenseless shins with force 
enough to bark them from ankles to knees. 

When we planted corn, we covered it with a hoe. We 
had not sense enough to see that it could be covered 
with a plow more rapidly and with far less work, and 
to think about a corn-planter ^vas a mental feat which 
the brighest intellect in the whole mutton-headed lot 
of us could not attempt without a stimulant. 

We plowed corn four or five times and then laid it by 
with a hoe by drawing a heap of dirt as large as an old- 
fashioned potato hill around every stalk. So great was 
the fertility of the soil that, after we quit working corn, 
late in summer, cockle burs and Spanish needles would 
cover the wdiole face of the earth and grow as tall as a 
man's head on horse-back. We had to hitch a horse to 
a brush and drag between the corn rows, in the Fall, to 
break down the burs and w^eeds, so that we could gather 
the corn. We made from fifty to seventy-five bushels 
of corn per acre. 

Cotton first began to be planted in our neighborlK)od 
when I was a boy. Each farmer planted a small patch 
for home use, and whenever it began to thunder, in the 
Fall, Ave would stop all other work, and all hands would 
rush to the cotton patch and pick every boll that was 
open, before it rained. We thought it w^ould ruin cot- 
ton to get wet. 

We planted cotton in drills, and put seed enough in 
one row to plant ten. Hoeing cotton was hard, tedious 



164 SEVENTY YEABS IN DIXIE. 

work. We first scraped each side of the drill with a 
hoe, leaving a narrow strip of cotton and weeds in the 
middle of the row. We then cut through this narrow 
drill with a hoe, leaving the cotton, weeds and grass in 
bunches two or three inches square and from eighteen 
to twenty inches apart. We then stooped down and 
pulled out all the weeds and grass in each bunch, and 
all the cotton but one stalk, with our fingers. I thought 
I had hoe skill enough to do some of this finger work 
.with my hoe, but the first time I tried it I was soundly 
thrashed for my bold experiment. 'Twas ever thus 
with me in boyhood days. Every effort of suppressed 
genius to exert itself, brought me to grief. 

We did a vast amount of unnecessary work, and in 
the very hardest possible way, as usual, in preparing 
land for the plow, in Spring, on which cotton grew the 
previous 3^ear. We simply pulled up the old cotton stalks, 
one by one, with our hands, piled them. in heaps and 
burned them. For a boy eight or ten years old to pull 
up cotton stalks from seven to ten feet high, which had 
roots like young trees, was an industry well calculated 
to develop every muscle in his little body. Such work 
could be done only when the ground was thoroughly 
soaked with heavy rains, in early Spring, after the hard 
freezes of inclement Winter. I have pulled cotton 
stalks many a day through an incessant drizzle of cold 
rain, all the time wading mud and slush ankle deep with 
not a shoe on my foot or a dry thread in my clothing. 
The cold mud, chilling rain and raw wind would chap 
my hands, feet and face, and the continual strain on my 
muscles would set my back to aching in every joint of 
my spinal column. Long before night my hands, would 
be blistered and bleeding, and my appetite as voracious 
as a buzz-saw. Many a night, after working hard from 



A BOY'S TROUBLES. 165 

daylight till dark, I have rolled on the floor before the 
iire, in ouir cabin home, and cried, in a perfect paroxysm 
of misery, with my aching back, blistered hands and 
bleeding face and feet, till e^iausted nature found par- 
tial relief in troublous dreams. As I think of those 
days of misery and nights of suffering, there comes to 
my memory a vision of loveliness indescribable in the 
tear-bathed faces of loving, sympathizing sisters and 
mother, bending over me with simple salves and oint- 
ments of their own make, in tireless efforts to relieve 
my misery, and sooth me to sleep. For another sight 
of those blessed faces, another touch of those loving 
hands and another sound of those sweeter voices, to me, 
than angels' harps, I would cheerfully put my frail body 
to such a rack again. Mine was a hard lot, but I had 
sympathy in my suffering. Many a time would a pale- 
faced, over-worked, poorly-clad, frail-bodied mother or 
sister tenderly lift me from the cabin floor, where I had 
fallen asleep, and carry me to my humble couch rather 
than awake me to misery again. Many a time have I 
felt myself tenderly pressed to the loving heart of 
mother or sister, and, half waking, half dreaming, heard 
the whispers of pity and love, and the prayers of faith 
and hope, fresh from the loving heart, for me, as hot 
tears fell upon my scarcely more than baby face, and a 
loving kiss passionately pressed my childish lips. We 
were poor and illiterate, but not without the finer 
feelings of true love and keen sympathy one for another 
in our misery. The God of the poor was our God. 
The eye that never sleeps was over us; the arm that 
never fails, around us. He who sees the sparrows when 
they fall, and hears the softest murmur of sorrow from 
the lips of the humblest little one, in all the universe, 
who believes on him, continually hovered over us, and 



166 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



tlirougli all our troubles and sorrows safely guided us 
with his eye. 

My work on the farm and in the clearing began when 
I was about seven years ^old, and before I was out of 
frocks. In preparing land for the plow, in early Spring, 
on which corn grew the previous year, my father cut 
the old corn-stalks with a hoe, and I picked them up 




r^ 



REAP-HOOK. 



with my hand, and piled them in heaps to be burned. 
This was my first work in the field. There was not in- 
ventive genius enough in the whole country, to conceive 
the idea of as simple a thing as a horse-rake, to gather 
corn-stalks in piles to be burned. 

We cut our wheat with reap-hooks and threshed it 
with flails. As a harvesting machine a reap-hook was 
as simple as it was slow. It was simply a long, crooked 



OLD-TIME THRESHERS. 167 

kuife. The operator held a bunch of wheat in his left 
hand and cut it with the reap-hook, which he manipu- 
lated with his right hand. We had to stoop down and 
cut the wheat off hut a few inches above the ground. 
It was hard work, and tediously slow\ A man could 
not harvest more than .half an acre of wheat in a day, 
and there was more hard labor in one day of such work 
than in a whole week of harvesting with a patent binder. 

A flail is aptly described by Webster as " an instru- 
ment for threshing or beating grain from the ear by 
hand consisting of a wooden handle, at the end of 
which a stouter and shorter pole, or club is so hung as 
to swing freely." The simplest method of making a 
flail was to cut a hickory sapling long enough for both the 
handle and the shorter pole, or club. At the place where 
the handle was to end and the club to begin, we beat a 
section of the sapling, a few inches long, with a ham- 
mer or the back of an ax, till it was a mere withe and 
perfectly flexible. Ordinarily, the handle of a flail was 
about five feet long, and the club about two feet in 
length. We laid the wheat on the floor of the barn, or 
on a covered pen of rails, and pounded it to a mass of 
chaff, broken straw and wheat. This work was always 
done in the hottest days of summer. 

When the wheat was threshed, we sifted it through a 
sieve, or riddle, made for the purpose, to separate the 
wheat from the straw and coarse particles of chaft'. 
Such sieves w^ere home-made, of course. They were 
simply large boxes, with perforated bottoms woven of 
hickory-bark, white-oak splits or raw-hide strips. The 
holes in the bottom were about one-fourth of an inch 
square. In sifting the wheat, all the finer chaft* that 
was small enough to go through the holes in the home- 
made sieve, would remain with the wheat, of course. 



168 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

To separate it from the wheat, one man would pour 
wheat and chaff together, in a small stream, from a ves- 
sel held high above his head, while two other men 
fanned vigorously, w^ith a sheet or bed quilt, as it fell. 
This fanning process was an art that required " skilled 
labor." The fanners would take hold of opposite ends 
of the sheet or quilt, stretch it tight, and fan, by a 
peculiar motion of their arms, w^ith all their might, in 
the direction the wind was blowing, as the wheat and 
chaff fell. 

In course of time the reap-hook was supplanted by 
the cradle, and the tramping of horses and oxen took 
the place of the flail. We thought the millennium was 
surely at hand then. The great progress of the world 
and the astounding inventions of men, were, to us, un- 
answerable arguments in support of the theory that 
the end of the world was rapidly approaching. How 
Gabriel could sit calmly by and see one man cut three 
acres of wheat, with a cradle, in a day, and tramp it out 
with an old blind horse, in a few hours, and not give his 
horn a toot, was more than we could understand. 

The first cradles we ever used were crude and un- 
wieldy. They little resembled the more perfect imple- 
ments of the same name which are still in use in some 
parts of the country. 

Why we did not, from the iirst, adopt the process of 
threshing wheat by tramping it with horses and oxen, 
is another inexplicable mystery. That is by no means 
a modern idea. It was generally practiced in Palestine 
in Bible times. But then many things in matters of 
religion that were practiced in Palestine more than 
eighteen hundred years ago have not been generally 
adopted by the churches in this country yet. 

In preparing a threshing-floor, we sometimes swept 



IMPROVED MACHINERY. 



1G9 



the ground clean, wet it thoroughly to free it from dust 
and pounded it hard, with mauls, to nudve it firm. 




CUTTING WHEAT WITH A CRADLE. 

Sometimes we used the puncheon floors of harns for 
threshing-floors, sometimes we used the smooth surface 
of large, flat rocks for that purpose. The process was 



170 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

simply to spread the wheat, in the sheaf, on the thresh- 
ing-floor, and ride or drive the horses or oxen, over it at 
a brisk trot, in a circle, like cirdlis horses, till the wheat- 
straw was thoroughly tramped to pieces and the wheat 
was completely thrashed. We then cleaned the wheat 
by hand in the manner described in connection with 
flailing. 

Is it any wonder that, with our lack of both tools and 
sense, in the midst of a howling wilderness, Ave had a 
hard struggle to keep soul and body from parting com- 
pany? The economy we practiced and the hard work 
we did, with the improved methods we now have of 
doing things, would put any family in independent cir- 
cumstances in a few years. 

I remember that, when my father had eleven in fam- 
ily, his store account, for a whole year, was only sixty- 
seven dollars. When he settled with his merchant and 
paid off his year's account, he came home and gave us 
all a long lecture upon our extravagance, and declared 
that such reckless expenditures w^ould bankrupt him. It 
sounds more like Action than liistory to say the entire 
store account, for a whole year, of a family of eleven, five 
of whom were young ladies in fashionable society, was 
only sixty-seven dollars. When my father was eighty 
years old, the store account for himself and his wife 
only, for a year, was one hundred and fifty dollars. By 
chance, I was at his house when he settled with his 
merchant and paid his account for the year. I remind- 
ed him of the time when he lectured us for extrava- 
gance when the year's account for all eleven of us was 
only sixty-seven dollars. But the dear old man merely 
said : . 

" Yes, my son ! But times have changed greatly 
since then! " 



NEGROES AND MULES. 171 

Well, he was riglit. Times have changed since then 
sure enough. 

A queer old man was my father. He always raised 
horses for his own use, and* a few for sale ; but he never 
would raise a mule or own any negroes, beyond a few 
trusty old domestic servants which he treated very much 
as he treated his own children. He had an inexpressi- 
ble aversion for both mules and negroes, and always 
said : 

^' If there had never been a negro in the world, there 
never would have been any demand for mules. He 
never owned an acre of land till late in the evening of 
life. Why, I do not know. Land cost nothing but the 
clearing of it, yet he was content to ''lease'' every 
acre he needed. That is to say, he would clear land 
owned by other men, for the privilege of cultivating it 
three years. Many hard-working, but improvident men 
of his age, did the same. From my earliest recollec- 
tion to the time I left home, to engage in business for 
myself, we put in our time closely every day in the year 
that we were not engaged in cultivating the crop, clear- 
ing, building houses, making rails and fencing land, for 
other men, on a " lease." We built houses and cleared 
laud enough for a dozen good homes, and yet we were 
homeless. When we cleared a field, our ''lease" would 
hold it just long enough to get it clear of roots and in a 
good state of cultivation, when we had to turn it over 
to the rightful owner and take another "lease" in the 
woods. By going a few miles out of the neighborhood, 
we could have selected a homestead of as fine land as 
the country afforded, but we had not enterprise enough 
to do it. 

I made the first important rise in the Avorld when I 
bought, with the price of my own labor, a very high, 



172 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

home-made, " stove-pipe " hat. It was not called a '' stove- 
pipe " hat then, because there was no such thing as a 
stove pipe, to suggest such a name, but that is really 
what it was. It was made of 'coon's fur. In color it 
was unique; in shape^ variable and uncertain. When 
new, it was, in shape, the express image of the hatter's 
''block'' on which it was modeled, but as it grew older, 
day by day, it gradually lost its beauty of form. It 
seemed that it could never make up its mind as to what 
shape it really preferred, and, though it changed its 
form every day and every hour, it never improved its 
original appearance. Each new form was less comely 
than its predecessor, and the changes followed each 
other with ever increasing rapidity as the moments 
flitted by. Finally, it got soaking wet in a hard rain 
one day, and, to hold it on my head, against the press- 
ure of a brisk wind, I took hold of what, up to that 
time, I had understood was the brim of the thing, and 
yanked it down with more vigor than discretion. 
Presto change I It was without form and void ! The 
brim was gone, the crown was no more ! It was simply 
a long, conical bag, as large as my head at the bottom 
and as sharp as an acorn at the top. I calmly looked 
upon its shapeless ruins and thought of its departed 
glory for a few brief but bitter seconds, and then threw 
it into the ash-hopper with a feeling of disgust for all 
the glory of the world akin, to that expressed by Solo- 
mon, the wise, in his ever memorable words : " Vanity 
of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity and vexa- 
tion of spirit?" 

We raised no hay, but pulled fodder as a substitute. 
The season for fodder pulling was in the month of 
Auffust, and about the first of October we began to 
gather corn, pick cotton and sow wheat. We rarely 



SHOOTING MATCHES. 173 

finished working the crop before the middle of July. 

When I was fifteen years of age I went to school six 
months in succession. Up to that time my education 
had been in homeopathic doses, about a month at a 
time, between fodder-pulling and cotton-picking. My 
six months term at school finished my collegiate educa- 
tion, except a post-graduate course at the anvil in a 
blacksmith shop. 

The only kinds of gambling we ever engaged in were 
horse races and shooting matches. Strange to say, 
those things were not then considered gambling, even 
by preachers and other church dignitaries. 

A shooting match was simply a trial of skill in rifle- 
shooting, with beef as the stake gambled for. A man 
who had a beef for market would appoint a time and 
place for a shooting match, bring his beef to the ground 
and sell it out in ''chances^'' in the shooting match. 
Each chance entitled the purchaser to one shot in the 
" match.'' By common consent and tacit agreement, 
the beef was divided into ^lyq parts as follows: Two 
hind quarters, two fore quarters and the hide and tallow, 
and lead shot into the tree against which the mark was 
set. The best shot took first choice of the five parts, 
second best, second choice, and so on till the beef was 
all divided among the marksmen. 

So great was their skill in rifle shooting that, at sixty 
yards, off-hand, a man who failed to break the small 
circle around the center of the mark was severely ridi- 
culed and openly disgraced. When I was but ten years 
old, if I brought home a squirrel, from one of my hunts, 
shot anywhere except in the head, my father sharply 
rebuked me for my lack of skill as a marksman and 
threatened to take my rifle from me and get me a shot gun. 
It is strange that no one ever detected any gambling in 



174 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




CLEARING BY FIRE LIGHT. 175 

a shooting match. My father was an elder in the Pres- 
byterian church, and would have scorned the idea of 
gambling in anything, and yet he won all the beef our 
whole family needed, at shooting matches. His reputa- 
tion as a marksman was so well established that the 
neighbors would frequently give him first choice of the 
the five parts in the beef, not to shoot at all. If he 
bought as many as five "chances," he rarely failed to 
get the whole beef with his five shots. 

We did much work at night in clearing land. The 
small boys would gather brush and pile them on fires 
to make light for the hands to work by and to get the 
brush out of the way, while the larger boys and men 
cut saplings, felled trees and deadened timbdV in the clear- 
ing. We often worked at night in this way, for hours. 



CHAPTER XI. 



SUPPORTING THE GOSPEL. 

Drinking was as common as eating. Still-houses were 
more numerous than school-houses. Whisky, apple 
brandy, and peach brandy were almost as generally us 3d 
as water, and nearly as cheap. Every man could make 
his own beverage without paying even an occupation 
tax. Those who did not feel inclined to make it them- 
selves, hauled their grain or fruit to the nearest still - 
house, which was never very far, and had it made " on 
the shares." Every householder laid in his yearly sup- 
ply of "sperits" as regularly as his bread-stuff. No 
man could maintain a good character as a church mem- 
ber without keeping constantly on hand enough '' sper- 
its" to stimulate "the parson" at his regular monthly 
visits. 

It is perhaps not expedient to use names or specify 
time and place, but a story of two prominent church 
members will illustrate the spirit of the age. They had 
been to market to lay in supplies for the annual revival 
at their charch. They talked thus with each other as 
they journeyed homeward : 

" How much ' sperits ' did you git ? " 

'' Ten gallons." 

" Jest sech stinginess as that will sp'ile the meetin' 
an' kill the church. I got twenty gallons, myself, an' 
you are jest as able to support the gospil as I am, if you 
wuz n't so dog stingy." 
(176) 



TEMPERANCE WORK. 177 

Fifty cents would buy a gallon of the best wliisky 
in the market. One no more thought of entertaining 
guests without drinks than without regular meals and 
lodging. Drinking was not restricted by law, opposed 
by temperance organizations or discouraged by church- 
es. Preachers drank habitually, but not to drunken- 
ness, and openly took their stimulants at public bars. 

In later years temperance organizations and churches 
began to discourage drinking, and the more progressive 
preachers in all churches became total abstainers and 
earnest temperance advocates. The conservative preach- 
ers and church members held out firmly against such 
unwarranted innovations and interference with personal 
rights. This led to wide-spread discussion, general dis- 
putation and continual wrangles in churches through- 
out the country. Some churches prohibited their mem- 
bers from joining temperance societies on pain of ex- 
communication. In many places churches divided on 
this issue. Paul's admonition to Timothy : " Drink no 
longer water, but take a little wine for thy stomach's 
sake, and thine often infirmities" was well thumbed in 
every Bible. From the prominence given that text in 
the pulpits of all the churches, one might have sup- 
posed the country was suffering from a sweeping epi- 
demic of stomach troubles and infirmities of one sort 
and another, for which strong drink was the only 
remedy. 

I deem it unwise to give names, date, or locality, but 
I had the following story from the lips of the preacher 
in the case : 

A total abstinence preacher and a strong advocate of 
the cause of temperance conducted a revival in a neigh- 
borhood near a saloon. Many souls were converted, 
and, among the number, the saloon-keeper himself. The 
12 



178 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

oonverts not only professed religion, but, under the 
good man's preaching, they were also converted on the 
temperance question. The saloon-keeper was in trouble. 
He did not want to sell any more whisky, but every- 
thing he had in the world was invested in the stuff. To 
pour it out was in accordance with his feelings, but that 
meant financial ruin. The w^elfare of his family was 
not the only thing to be considered. He had bought 
much of his Uquor on a credit, and the rights of his 
creditors were clearly involved. To pour it out would 
leave his family without a penny and himself without 
ability to pay his honest debts. He was greatly troubled, 
but finally decided to state the case to the preacher and 
ask for advice. The preacher was in doubt what to 
advise him to do, and decided to lay the case before the 
brethren. They all thought and prayed over it in great 
seriousness. The revival grew in interest. A deep re- 
ligious feeling pervaded the entire community. Sin- 
ners repented, saints rejoiced, scoffers wondered and 
wags grew serious. The preacher inveighed against sin 
in general, explained to all the way of life, and de- 
nounced drunkenness and the liquor trafiic as a sin 
against God and a crime against mankind. The saloon- 
keeper groaned in spirit, but no one could solve his dif- 
ficulty or suggest any way to lighten his burden. 

Finally, under the excitement of the revival, the 
zealous new converts and the happy old brethren decid- 
ed to buy the whole stock of liquor and pour it out. 
The preacher seized the idea with delight and urged 
them to carry out the good resolution. 

Accordingly they started a subscription, to make up 
the money, and appointed a day considerably in the 
future to meet at the saloon and consummate the busi- 
ness. Unfortunately, the revival closed and the relig- 



WHISKY IN THE CHURCH. 



179 



ious excitement collapsed before the day arrived when 
the faithful were to meet at the saloon, to purchase and 
pour out the condemned beverage. 

The pilgrims gathered promptly, but each one had a 
sort of I-did n't-know-it-was-loaded and wish-I-hadn't- 
done-it expression on his countenance. But no one had 
the nerve to back down. The money was promptly 
handed over and counted down to the ex-saloon-keeper 
and late convert. The whisky now belonged to the 
church, but no one offered to pour it out. Evidently 




" THE MONEY WAS COUNTED. 

they all felt the sacrifice they were about to make. 
Truly, the spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. 

It is interesting to study the work of grace in the heart, 
the re-action from intense religious fervoc and excitement, 
the strength of temptation, the weakness of human 
nature and the deplorable victory of sin over the saints, 
as illustrated in this remarkable case. But a few days 
ago every man in this little band of brethren was all 
aglow with religious zeal, and not one in the number 



180 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

but would have been indignant bad any man accused 
him of the weakness they all now felt. The way to 
heaven seems plain enough, and easy enough too, to the 
religious enthusiast in the midst of a revival. Many a 
man can "bid farewell to every fear" and " face a frown- 
ing world " during a protracted meeting, who will not 
walk two squares to a prayer-meeting three weeks after 
the revival has closed. It is no unusual thing to see a 
man "bound for the promised land" one week, during 
a revival, and bound for the nearest saloon the next 
week, every morning before breakfast. There are 
scores of church members who will "bear the toil, en- 
dure the pain, supported by his word," right through a 
rousing revival, and break down under the re-action 
and go to pieces morally, supported by a keg of Mil- 
waukee beer, in less than a month after the revival 
closes. I have no objection to the doctrine of final per- 
severance of the saints. It is a good doctrine. I like 
it. As a theory, it has my unanimous endorsement. 
What I want to find is a congregation of Christians 
which, as one man, will give the world a practical illus- 
tration of it. 

The saints who met at the old-fashioned country 
saloon, a short time after the revival closed, to buy the 
whisky and pour it out, were all right in theory. It 
was in practice they so signally fiiiled. For several 
moments after the whisky was bought and paid for, 
they sat in solemn silence and deep meditation. Final- 
ly one old brother said : 

"My old 'oman's out'n camphor." 

Of course that was a " feeler" only. For several sec- 
onds no one responded to it. The silence seemed al- 
most dense. The devil was clearly at work on the new 
converts. Bv and bv another old brother said : 



THE TEMPTATION. 



181 



''My old 'oman was a telling of me t'other day as 
how she needed some sperits to make bitters." 

Another period of painful silence. Every man was 
fighting a mighty battle in himself against the world, 
the fiesh and the devil. Two souls in that faithful Httle 
band had already showed signs of alarming weak- 




"THE OLD 'Oman's out'n camphor." 

ness. Evidently they were hard pressed in the struggle. 
Possibly they had already surrendered. Who would be 
the next to fall? The silence was broken again by the 
faltering voice of another weak brother. He said : 

"It's good fur snake bites." 

The pilgrims now began to get interested. They crowd- 
ed around the three brethren who had spoken so signifi- 



182 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

cantly of "camphor," ''snake bites" and "bitters." 
The crisis was passed. The battle was lost to the saints. 
The devil's guns had swept the field. 

The talking now became general. They all said it 
looked like foolishness to throw away several gallons of 
good " sperits " which the}^ had paid for, when they all 
had to buy such stuff, much as they detested it as a 
beverage, for camphor, snake bites, bitters and other 
medical purposes. The ex-saloon-keeper and late con- 
vert had a full supply of jugs, bottles and kegs. Why 
not buy all the vessels he had on hand and divide the 
"sperits" among the brethren in proportion to the 
amount of money each one had paid? Of course that 
was the only wise thing to do under the circumstances, 
when it was suggested. It was commendable economy 
against shameful waste. It was also a part of their 
duty to the ex-saloon-keeper and late convert, to buy 
his stock of jugs, bottles, barrels and kegs, as well as 
his stock of liquor. What use could he have for such 
vessels after his saloon was closed? He could not sell 
them ; he was not able to lose them. 

The jugs, bottles and kegs Avere promptly bought, and 
the liquor was equitably divided among the brethren. 
Then came another pause in the proceedings. The con- 
vention again needed a leader, and for lack of one it 
collapsed. The silence of a Quaker meeting settled 
down upon the little band of halting pilgrims. What 
they needed now was a man to cry " make way for lib- 
erty," and throw himself upon the altar of his country, 
so to speak. That man was not present. There was 
not even one to say "give me liberty or give me death." 
They stood like sheep for the slaughter, and like lambs 
before the shearer, they were dumb. By this time it 
was night. Clearly, something must be done. It was 



THE FALL. 183 

con- 



time to adjourn, and yet the main business of the 
vention, as tliey all understood it now, had scarcely 
been touched. Finally, the camphor man said : 

" My old 'oman's mighty partic'lar about the Idnd of 
sperits she uses to make camphor out'n." 



"THE SECOND BALLOT. 

No one else spoke. The silence was painful. The 
pilgrims groaned in spirit. By and by the snake-bite 
man said : 

" I would be afeared to resk anything but the best o' 
sperits fur a snake bite." , 



184 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

Only a sigh from tlie rest of tlie pilgrims. For sev- 
eral seconds no one else spoke. Everybody seemed em- 
barrassed. The last speaker was clearly endorsed by 
the whole convention, but no one seemed disposed to 
put the question squarely before the house. At last the 
bitters man said : 

" My old 'oman always tells me to be shore'n' taste 
liquor before I bring it home fur bitters. It takes 
mighty good sperits to make bitters that's wo'th a 
cent." 

This sounded like business. The pilgrims became in- 
terested again. They crowded around the speakers. 
The suggestion about tasting the "sperits" fairly elec- 
trified the crowd. Clearly that was the proper thing, to 
do under the circumstances. The bitters man tasted 
the liquor in one of the jugs. He was somewhat doubt- 
ful as to the quality of the stuif. He wanted to know 
whether the other jugs contained a better quality of 
" sperits." He tried another jug and pronounced it bet- 
ter. One of the other brethren present openly express- 
ed doubt as to this taster's judgment. The doubter 
tasted both jugs. They at once got into an animated 
argument and.both men tasted both jugs again. They 
were further apart on the second ballot than the first. 
They put the question again, including other jugs. Re- 
sult, a " dead lock " on the third ballot and neither of the 
tasters could remember which jug he said was the best 
on the second ballot. Clearly they were both too 
drunk by this time, to know anything al)out it. Each 
one of them appealed the question to the house. This 
made it necessary for every' body to taste the contents 
of all the jugs in dispute, and in less than an hour that 
little band of loving brothers was a howling mob of 
drunken backsliders. They whooped, they yelled, they 



PILGnniS ON A SPREE, 



185 



embraced eaeli other with iiiaiullin affection and sana- 
sketches of revival hymns. They preached, they ex- 
horted, they prayed, they shouted, they quarreled, and 
linall}^ they ended the carousal in a free fight and a 
general fisticuif. 

Scarcely an incident in this story is exaggerated in 




WE R ON OUR JOURNEY HOME. 



the slightest particular. I had the story from the old 
preacher who figured so conspicuously in the matter, 
and whose flock it was which thus publicly disgraced 
itself en masse. The church is to-day intact, as a re- 
ligious organization, and one of the most solid and sub- 
stantial country chnrches in the South. Actually a 
score or more of the leading members of that church. 



186 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

years ago, not many days after the close of a very suc- 
cessful revival, met at the saloon of their newly-adopted 
brother in the church, bought the whole stock of liquor 
on hand, divided it among themselves, all got as 
drunk as lords and ended the meeting with a general 
row, just as I have related. 

Preachers and church members who drank regularly 
were not bad people. They simply drank in all good 
conscience. They did not consider it wrong to drink. 
In the matter of unyielding and uncompromising fidel- 
ity to what they believed to be their duty, the people of 
that age were not inferior to this generation. The 
change in public sentiment, since those days, on the 
drinking question, shows encouraging progress in the 
moral education of the world. 

All reformations must .needs move slowly. It is not 
easy for middle-aged men to conform their conduct lo 
new theories. The work of reforming a people has 
scarcely begun when they are brought to see the neces- 
sity of reformation. Indeed it is but a small part of the 
work of reformation to bring them to acknowledge the 
error of their way and resolve to change their course of 
life. Even after all this has been done for them, there 
must needs be a long and tedious stumbling over old 
habits and acquired appetites before the work of refor- 
mation is perfected. When the preachers and church 
members of olden times, who were habitual drinkers, 
undertook to conform their lives to newly-acquir- 
ed ideas and convictions touching the drinking habit, 
they were not unlike their brethren of the present gen- 
eration in that they often fell into temptations and fo.r 
a season gave way to an ill-trained appetite. 



CHAPTER XII. 



OLD-TIME FUNERALS. 

An old-time country funeral was an^ occasion of no 
ordinary importance. A simple service of song- and 
prayer was usually held at the grave, but the regular 
funeral sermon was preached at a place and time duly 
appointed and widely advertised, weeks, and often 
months after the burial. When a man's wife died, the 
accepted code of etiquette prohibited him from showing 
any signs of a disposition to make other matrimonial 
arrangements for the future, till after the funeral of his 
lamented companion. When a woman lost her husband, 
she disgraced herself if she received any attentions at 
all from the sterner sex, before the funeral. The period 
between the burial and the funeral was a season of 
mourning, and society would not tolerate anything re- 
motely resembling a courtship in either widows or wid- 
owers during that time. On this account, there were- 
probably cases in which precocious relicts lamented the 
customary delay of such memorial services quite as 
much as the original bereavement. To lose one life- 
partner by death was scarcely a greater calamity, in the 
estimation of some widows and widowers, than to miss 
a good chance to get another, through respect to an ex- 
acting public sentiment. Such perplexities, however, 
tended to increase the causes of sorrow during the 
weary period of mourning between the burial and the 
funeral. Those who did not mourn for the dead, pined 
for the living. AYith the grave between them and their 

(187) 



188 SEVENTY YEABS IN DIXIE. 

lost love beliind, and the funeral between them and 
their heart's idol before, they were hopelessly shut in be- 
tween the memory of the past and their anxiety for the 
future, with no source of consolation for the present. 
Yet no widow or widower, who had any regard at all 
for the respect of the best people of the country, would 
venture to engage in anything like courtship before the 
funeral of the late lamented. 

Many people selected the preacher to preach their 
funerals before they died. This Avas frequently done by 
very old people, and by those who died of lingering, in- 
curable diseases. In some instances persons arranged 
all the details of their own funerals years before they 
died, even to the designation of the place where it 
should be preached, the text of Scripture it should be 
preached from, the songs that should be sung and the 
singers who should sing them. 

Men often revealed life-secrets to preachers whom 
they selected to preach their funerals, to be made public 
in their funeral sermons. The people, therefore, took 
great interest in the funeral of every man, about whose 
life hung a mystery of any kind. It was no unusual 
thing for a funeral sermon to throw a flood of historic 
light upon the past life, as well as a halo of prophetic 
illumination around the future destiny, of its subject. 

In communicating to his chosen preacher the leading 
points of his own funeral, a man always remembered 
his friends, relatives and enemies. He left a message 
for each, in the form of a piece of brotherly advice, a 
gentle rebuke or a word of exhortation. All such mes- 
sages, advice and admonitions were adroitly worked into 
the sermon. Those who were of ''the same faith and 
order" of the deceased, touching religious convictions, and 
"in good standing and full fellowship," were commend- 



MESSAGES FROM THE DEAD. 189 

ed for their soundness in the faith and exhorted to con- 
tinue steadfast hi the doctrine. Those who were niem- 
hers of some other denomination in religion were deli- 
cately hut indirectly reminded of their heresy, and 
pointed to the true church. And finally, those who 
were without God and Avithout hope in the world were 
lectured for their waywardness and warned of their 
danger. 

Skillfully and delicately managed, all this, in a fun- 
eral sermon, made a profound impression upon the com- 
community. When a preacher w^isely manipulated his 
material in a funeral sermon, it was difficult for the 
hearers to rid themselves of the feeling that they were 
listening to a message from the unseen world. Of 
course the judicious preacher, in dealing with denomi- 
national differences, for instance, would never put the 
case with offensive hluntness. It was easy enough to 
give it the milder form of a lamentation from the grave 
over the loss of church fellowship, in this life, hy reason 
of the denominational differences in question, and if the 
preacher stated the case strongly in this hght, and 
hacked it up hy the most confident asseverations of the 
deceased, in his very last moments, that his faith was 
clear and his church undoubtedly right, the sermon 
rarely failed to raise grave apprehensions in the minds 
of members of other denominations, if nothing more. 

Public sentiment required the preacher to state defi- 
nitely what was the future and final destiny of the soul 
of the deceased. There was no evading this point. It 
was required of the preacher to tell not only where the 
departed spirit had gone, but to give his reasons for con- 
cluding that it had gone there. From his opinion in 
such cases, there was no appeal on this earth. People 
went to funerals to learn the final destiny of departed 



190 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

spirits with as much confidence as they- examined an al- 
manac to learn when the moon changed. This impart- 
ed to every funeral sermon something of the seriousness 
and solemnity of the last judgment. 

Of course there were people who gravely doubted 
whether the judgment rendered in the funeral sermon 
would, in all cases, be confirmed by the upper court, 
but such doubters were not very numerous or oat- 
spoken. The fact that the preacher was taken into 
the full confidence of the deceased in the manner already 
explained, gave his words great weight concerning the 
spirit's fate in the world to come. Ilis opinion on this 
point, skillfully interwoven with messages from the 
dead to the living, seemed to partake of the nature of 
such messages, and we were all inclined to accept what 
he said as though it were a voice from the unseen w^orld. 
I speak now from the recollection of the impressions 
funeral sermons made upon my mind in early childhood, 
rather than from any distinct remembrance of the exact 
words of the preacher on such occasions. I know I got 
things mixed in my childish mind along this line some- 
times, but still my impressions were not entirely with- 
out foundation in the literal meaning of the plain 
words of the sermons. I remember well that my little 
head often became so confused between what the dead 
man said and the living preacher imagined and inferred^ 
that I would almost regard the parson's vivid and glow- 
ing descriptions of heaven and hell as the testimony of 
the deceased, as an eye-witness of those things, sent 
back to us by the preacher. 

There was still another ground for our faith in the 
preacher's knowledge as to the destiny of souls depart- 
ed, apart from the fact that he was the full confidant 
and spiritual adviser of the deceased even down to the 



DIVINE CALL TO PREACH. 



191 



very valley unci shadow of deatli. In those days 
preachers were called to the ministry, and qnalified for 
all ministerial functions, hy direct and plenary revela- 
tions of the Spirit of God. At least they so claimed, 
and the people so he- 
lieved. They claimed, 
and the people general- 
ly helieved, that they 
were in conlmunication 
with God hy the pres- 
ence, power and revela- 
tions of the Spirit in 
their hearts. We under- 
stood that what they 
preached on any suhject 
was given them from 
God ])y such spiritual 
revelations. 

To study a subject, 
prepare a sermon or 
even select a text he 
fore going to a regular 
appointment for preach- 
ing: was a sin of pre-.-^^:^ 
sumption with some of 
those old-time country 
pulpit lights. It was 

no unusual thing to " 

hear "hook larnin'" of " clergyman's suit." 

every kind publicly denounced from the pulpit as a 
species of infidelity, in preachers, toward God, and a 
sinful exaltation of liuman wisdom against divine power 
and spiritual guidance in the ministry. Even ability 
to read was, by some, considered prima facie evidence 




192 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

of heresy, and a preacher not infreqnentlj demonstrat- 
ed his orthodoxy, to his own satisfaction, by boisterous 
asseverations of his ignorance in the pulpit. 

Those old preachers were, nevertheless, men of great 
power and influence among the people. A slouch hat, 
hip trousers and a coarse shirt completed a fashionable 
clergyman's suit, and strong lungs, vigorous jestures 
and copious tears constituted the leading elements of 
strength in a popular sermon. Some people believed 
that preachers spake as the Spirit gave them utterance, 
as implicitly as they believed any other tenet of their 
religion. Many people and preachers had no other idea 
as to the use of the Bible than that of a suitable place 
to And texts for "sarmints" and to record an epitome of 
family history in the form of a condensed record of 
])irths, ma;riages and deaths. The idea that it w^as a 
book of practical instruction touching personal and re- 
ligious duties, given by revelation of the Spirit of God 
through inspired men, to be read, understood and obey- 
ed by ordinary men, seems never to have entered their 
minds. Beyond the knowledge of a few disconnected 
texts, wdiich such preachers learned largely from each 
other, and which such people took for granted were 
somewhere in the Bible and meant anything, in a gen- 
eral w^ay, that the preacher saw proper to say they 
meant, but which really meant nothing in particular to 
such wooden-headed audiences, the Bible w^as a sealed 
l)Ook. It was a rare thing for preachers of that class 
to know exactly where, in the Bible, their favorite texts 
could be found. They always quoted a text from mem- 
ory at the beginning of their remarks, and never used 
any other portion of Scripture during the long ha- 
rangue called a sermon. They rarely failed to mis- 
quote the texts that were in the Bible, and not infre- 



STEAXGE TEXTS. 193 

C[nently based a sermon on a familiar adage, supposed 
to be Scripture, but really not in the Bible in any form. 
There are people yet living who have heard sermons on 
the texts : " Make hay while the sun shines," and " Ev- 
ery tub shall stand on its own bottom," and probably 
the preachers are not all dead yet who have based ser- 
mons on such texts, supposing that they were in the 
Bible. In citing a text the preacher gave himself the 
widest latitude by saying it will be found ^* somewhere 
betwixt the lids of the good book," and the people 
never looked to see whether it was there or not. If, 
after hearing a sermon, a man chanced to stumble on 
the text in his random reading in the Bible, and found 
that it read "jest adzactly as how the parson said 
it read," that was evidence abundantly satisfactory to 
him of the correctness of the whole sermon, no matter 
what it contained. 

Errors of pronunciation sometimes twisted very plain 
texts so as to make them fit all sorts of sermons. A 
case in point was that of an old preacher ^^lo selected 
the familiar passage from the writings of Peter against 
those who " shall bring in damnable heresies,'^ as a text 
against gossiping. It w\as a mistake in the pronuncia- 
tion of the word " Aems/c5 " that suggested the appro- 
priateness of the text as a foundation for the remarks 
the faithful old preacher wished to make against 
^'damnable hearsay.''^ Regardless of the real meaning 
of the text, the sermon was a timely rebuke against cer- 
tain old women of the neighborhood whose busy 
tongues were continually stirring up strife in the com- 
munity by repeating, with appropriate additions, sub- 
tractions and variations, everything they heard about 
other people. 

In view of all the surroundings, it is not difficult to 
13 



194 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



understand wliy tlie people firmly believed the preacher 
knew exactly what was the destiny of every man whose 
funeral sermon he had occasion to deliver. Why should 
he not know ? Was he not called of God to the minis- 




" DAMNABLE HEARSAY." 

try? Was he not in constant communion with God by 
the Spirit? Could not and did not the same Spirit 
which suggested his texts, arranged his sermons and 
guided his delivery, reveal to him the secrets of the un- 



PREACHING FOLKS TO HELL. 195 

seen world when his preaching was of necessity along 
the line of such deep mysteries ? And besides all this, 
did not the man whose funeral he was preaching plainly 
tell him, in strictest confidence, where he was going at 
the very last moment before he took his departure to 
the land of disembodied spirits ? 

The idea that a preacher could make a mistake, in a 
funeral sermon, as to the destiny of the deceased, was 
preposterous, to that class of believers and reasoners. 

Though everybody understood that the preachers had 
only to make known, in the funeral sermon, the final 
destiny of the deceased, whatever that might be, the 
people were disposed, with strange inconsistency, to 
hold him responsible for the late of the dead. Hence 
they talked about preaching folks to heaven or to hell, 
in discussing funeral sermons, as flippantly as if it were 
merel}^ optional with the preacher as to what disposition 
should be made of the souls of the dead. To preach a 
man to hell invariably aroused the indignation of 
his friends ; to preach him to heaven invited the silent 
contempt, if not the open ridicule, of his enemies. 
Thus the poor preacher was beset with formidable diffi- 
culties on the right hand and on the left. He could 
only state what he knew as to the destiny of departed 
souls. For that destiny, whatever it might be, the fun- 
eral preacher was in no way responsible, but the people 
declined to see it in that light. They would not even 
allow him to escape the dilemma by omitting from the 
funeral sermon any reference at all to the destiny of 
the deceased. He was compelled to preach the man to 
heaven or hell one, in words of no uncertain import, 
and accept the consequences. 

It is impossible to describe the intense interest of the 
whole country in those long-appointed tuneral sermons. 



196 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



Everybody wanted to hear the dying confessions anddast 
messages of the deceased, and to learn for certain what 
was the fate of his sonL It may be said, to the credit 
of those old-time preachers, that the story lost nothing 
in the telling,. They were men of fertile imaginations 
as well as retentive memories, and the material furnish- 
ed by both memory and imagina- 
tion was used to the best advant- 
age, by the help of vigorous ges- 
ticulation and stentorian voices. 

The whole country for miles in 
every direction, would come to- 
gether to hear those set funeral 
sermons. Many a Avoman walk- 
ed and carried an infant in her 
arms from two to four miles, to 
a funeral. 

In case a man died without 
arranging for his own funeral be- 
forehand, his friends and rela- 
tives had to settle all the details 
of the memorial services among 
themselves. To do this without 
differences and unpleasant dis- 
agreements, was next to impossi- going to the funeral. 
ble. Those interested in the funeral were often scatter- 
ed over a wide scope of country ; they not infrequently 
belonged to different churches: they had all the sec- 
tional prejudices peculiar to their respective neighbor- 
hoods ; each family had its favorite preacher; and every 
delegation had its choice as to where the funeral should 
be preached. These differences often produced un- 
pleasant discord in efforts to settle the details of the 
funeral services. Sometimes they led to alienations in 




FUNERAL CONGREGATIONS. 197 

families, wrangles between different neigliborlioods, 
factions in society and open schisms in churches. When 
the arrangements were all settled, due announcements 
were made of the time, place and preacher of the fun- 
eral, in all the country churches for miles around, 
several weeks in advance of the day set for the 
services. 

Funeral congregations were always large, and men of 
business soon learned to take advantage of them for 
purely selfish interests. Members of churches and even 
preachers of the gospel looked upon funerals as favora- 
ble opportunities to push various business enterprises of 
a purely personal nature. Jockeys went to funerals to 
sell or swap horses ; candidates, to electioneer ; road 
overseers, to '' warn hands ; " school teachers, to circu- 
late their '' articles " and make up schools ; sheriffs, to 
serve warrants, subpoena witnesses and summon jurors ; 
creditors, to collect debts ; and farmers in general, to 
^' lease" land, buy mules, sell bee-trees and ask hands to 
log-rollings, house-raisings and corn-shuckings. In a 
word, everybody in the country went, if for no other 
purpose, because everybody else would be there — men, 
Avomen, boys, girls, babies and dogs. 

The preacher who was to deliver the sermon always 
extended the ministerial courtesy of an invitation to a 
seat in the pulpit, to other preachers present, especially 
to those of "• the same faith and order." For the 
preacher in charge of ceremonies to allow another 
preacher to occupy a seat in the audience, was an open 
declaration of ^' non-fellowship," and for a preacher in 
the audience to decline to take a seat in the pulpit, was 
to declare the preacher in charge of the services un- 
sound in the faith. When the pulpit was too small to 
accommodate all the preachers present with seats, as 



198 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



was frequentl J the case at siicli large gatlierings, '' tlie 
preacher in charge" of the ceremonies designated a re- 
served seat on a long bench in the amen corner for snch 
ministerial brethren as he deemed sonnd in the faith 
and worthy of recognition as preachers. It was cns- 




tomary for one of the brethren invited to a seat in the 
pulpit to ''open meetin'" with reading, singing and 
prayer. 

On one of those great funeral occasions, a blessed old 
preacher, who had walked a long distance through dust 



OFENIN' MEETIN\ 



199 



and iieat, was invited to a seat in the pulpit, and asked 
to ''open meetin'/' He wore red, cow-hide shoes and 
home-spun clothes, and his face was all covered with 
dust and streaked with great drops of perspiration 




" A huntin' seed peas." 

which literally rained down his. whole anatomy. He 
arose, hymn hook in hand, looked over the vast audi- 

ence and said : 

''Breetherino;, as hein' as I'm here, I'll open the meet- 
in' fur hrother^Buncomh, an' then he'll preach the fun- 



200 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

eral sarmint accordin' to previous a-p'intment. But 
while I'm before you, I want to say as liow my main 
business over here is a huntin' of some seed peas, an' if 
any body here has got any to spar', I'd like to know it 
after meetin' ! " 

A man moved from Tennessee to Texas. It was a 
long journey, in an ox wagon, through a dangerous 
country. Post-offices were few, mail routes were slow 
and uncertain, a postage stamp cost twenty-five cents 
and there were practically no such things as newspapers, 
and no facilities at all for gathering news. The emi- 
grant was not heard from by his friends and relatives 
in Tennessee for several months after his departure, but 
finally a letter came, bearing the sad news that he was 
dangerously sick. Nothing further was heard from 
him, and finally his friends and relatives concluded, per- 
haps correctly, that he was dead. They therefore 
selected a preacher and appointed a time and place to 
preach his funeral. An immense congregation assem- 
bled, as usual on such occasions, and the preacher in- 
troduced the sermon by saying : 

'' The last time we hearn from him he was very sick, 
an' seein' as how he's never writ any more, the breether- 
ing, friends and relatives consider it onsafe to wait any 
longer about the funeral, an' so the time has ariv, 
a-cordin' to previous a-p'intment, to preach the 
funeral." 

Just why the '^breethering" considered it '' onsafe" to 
wait any longer, he did not explain. The case illus- 
trates, however, the importance the people generally at- 
tached to funeral preaching. To lay the body of any 
man, woman or child to rest in the grave without a 
funeral sermon to follow at some future time, was uni- 



PREDESTINATION AND FUNERALS, 201 

versally considered '' onsafe." If any man liad suggest- 
ed such a thing, he wouhl have been considered wanting 
in reverence for the dead, respect for the living or re- 
gard for civilized society. There was nothing more 
strenuously enforced by public sentiment than the cus- 
tom of preaching funerals. Even the custom of bury- 
ing the dead, was scarcely more universally observed 
than that of funeral preaching. 

The prevailing theology of the particular time and 
section of country now in mind, was Calvinism of the 
most pronounced type. The people were taught from 
all the pulpits, except on funeral occasions, that a cer- 
tain number of men and angels was predestined to 
eternal damnation before the w^orld was made, and that 
the number to be saved and the number to be damned, 
were both so very definitely fixed that neither of them 
could be increased or diminished. It was also clearly 
explained and generally understood that but few souls 
were elected to salvation, or could, by any means, be saved. 
Every body firmly believed that a vast majority of the in- 
habitants of the world would go to hell when they died, 
and the people would have died at the stake rather than 
renounce publicly that fundamental tenet of their relig- 
ious faith. And yet, according to the funeral sermons, 
nearly every body went to heaven, and every body but; 
the bitterest enemies of the deceased raised a howl 
of indignation at the funeral preachers the few times 
any of them dared to express an opinion that the devil 
had captured a soul. A few of the meanest and most 
unpopular men of the country were preached to hell, as 
I am reliably informed, at a very early day, but I never 
heard such a funeral. The non-elect must have all died 
before I Avas born. I have heard scores of funerals, but 
never a soul did the devil get, out of the whole lot of 



202 SEVENTY YEATlS IN DIXIE. 

them. Even wlien the doctrine of predestination began 
to give place to that of man's free agency, the funeral 
preachers kept hell as vacant and as hot as ever. While 
men lived, the preachers told them they were going 
straight to the devil, but when they were dead, the fun- 
eral sermon never failed to land them in heaven. The 
fact is, preachers did not have the courage of their con- 
victions. They honestly believed in hell, and predesti- 
nation, and damnation, but when they came to make a 
personal application of the doctrine, they lacked the 
courage to say the man's soul is in hell, beyond hope or 
help. 

And yet, strange to say, the people saw nothing 
ridiculous in all those old funeral ceremonies and ser- 
mons. The funerals of those days surpassed anything 
we ever see in modern times, in the matter of deep and 
universal sorrow for the dead, and warm, loving sym- 
pathy for the living. 

• I remember one case, when I was a boy, in which a 
very old man in our neighborhood selected me for tenor 
in the choir at his prospective funeral. He chose about a 
dozen other young people in the neighborhood to com- 
plete the choir, and gave us a list of the songs he wanted 
us to sing. We practiced the pieces diligently for several 
years, and rehearsed before the old man scores of times, 
Sunday afternoons. He was something of a songster 
himself, and he took great pains to explain to us how to 
render the difficult passages in the music. He criticised 
us freely, and oifered numerous suggestions as to the 
pecuhar attitude we should assume, and the various ac- 
cents, tremors, pauses, swells and inflections we should 
observe, in order to bring out the sentiment of the 
poetry and give solemnity to the music. 

I have no recollection of anything in all my life as a 



A FUNERAL CHOIR. 203 

boy or young man, in which I took a deeper interest 
than in those rehearsals of that old man's prospective 
funeral. I say, as a boy or young man advisedly, for I 
had well-nigh past the period in life when even the lat- 
ter title could be consistently applied to me, before the 
old man died. 

I cannot think he so far over-rated my humble gifts 
as to select me as one of the singers in his prospective 
funeral on account of any talents I possessed as a 
vocalist, either natural or acquired. I cannot claim 
more than a third-rate reputation as a singer even now, 
after life-long and diligent application to the science 
and art of song, to say nothing of what I must have 
been then. I have an idea that the dear old man select- 
ed me from feelings of pure friendship, lest he should 
offend me by denying me the pleasure of chanting a 
dirge over his grave. Why he designated me as a tenor 
in the funeral choir, it would be interesting to know. 
However, his motives would have been equally obscure if 
he had selected me for any of the other parts in the music. 
Probably he named me for tenor at random because 
he knew I could sing that as well as any other part, and 
understood that I would wabble over the whole compass 
of the human voice and sing abstract sketches of all the 
parts in the piece as I meandered through the perform- 
ance, anyhow, no matter what part he might assign me. 
My social qualities and handsome looks were doubtless 
stronger points in my favor than my musical accom- 
plishments, as indicating to the old man my peculiar 
fitness for the part of leading tenor in his funeral choir. 
He had a keen appreciation of good humor, a soul for 
the sentimental and an eye for the beautiful. He really 
seemed to desire that a ripple of smiles and a vision of 
youthful beauty and loveliness should encircle his grave 



204 ISEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

as liis soul went marching on to judgment, even if such 
an arrangement in the selection of his funeral choir 
should compel him to sacrifice the harmony of his dirge 
for the sake of those other, and, to him, more desirable 
qualities in the singers. 

If anything could surpass the anticipated pleasure we 
all — including the old man himself — felt in the prospec- 
tive funeral, it was the enjoyment we found in the Sun- 
day afternoon rehearsals. We met at his home, re- 
hearsed the performance, ate peaches and watermelons 
in summer and nuts and apples in winter, and courted 
the girls at all seasons of the year. Still, the old man 
failed to perform his part in the final act. We were all 
growing older and uglier ; he seemed to grow younger 
and stouter. Some of the most beautiful girls and 
handsome boys in the funeral choir had married and 
started together on the journey to their own funerals, 
replenishing the earth as they went, while their places 
in the circle of chosen singers had been filled by society 
favorites from a younger generation, and still the old 
man declined to furnish the corpse for the funeral. I 
began to think we would have to bury him alive, or else 
take him "on the wing" and work ofi" his funeral as a 
piece of light comedy, to end the farce ! 

But the old man died at last. And a sadder day our 
little neighborhood never knew. Tears flowed freely 
from eyes unused to weep, and a deep gloom settled 
down upon the whole community. With a few simple 
tools we made a crude cofiin, which we painted, or 
rather died, with ooze boiled from the roots and bark of 
herbs and forest trees gathered by loving hands. With 
sad faces and heavy hearts the women of the neighbor- 
hood met at his home and made his grave clothes and 
winding-sheet. With picks and spades we dug his grave 



AN OLD-TIME FUNERAL. 205 

at the place he had selected, under his favorite old oak, 
near his humble home. As we worked, we talked of 
his many deeds of love and words of wisdom, and each 
heart felt an indescribable loneliness to think of life in 
the neighborhood without him through the dreary 
years to come. Tenderly and solemnly we looked 
through our tears upon his benevolent, smiling face for 
the last time, and with anguish indescribable we lower- 
ed him into his narrow vault. With uncovered heads we 
listened to the old preacher, who was also a life-long 
friend of the deceased, as he read, through sobs and 
sighs, the passage of Scripture selected for the occasion 
so many years ago, by the loved one now in the grave 
before us. We had all read it, at his request, many 
times before. We had heard him read it scores of times 
himself. We all knew it almost by heart. And yet it 
burst upon us like a new revelation in that last solemn 
reading. We had never heard it on that wise before. 
The reading ended, we all reverently kneeled down on 
the ground while the faithful old preacher offered up 
prayer to God. Women freely wept, old men and 
hardened sinners drew the sleeves of their begrimed 
shirts significantl}^ across their eyes, and sobs and sighs 
burst from sorrow-burdened souls in all parts of the as- 
sembly. We tried to sing the song he had selected for 
the occasion, but failed. After years of patient prac- 
tice and scores of thorough rehearsals, every singer broke 
down completely, and we all fell into each other's arms and 
sobbed as if our hearts would break. Tenderly we cover- 
ed him up, and sorrowfully we turned our faces home- 
ward. The patriarch of the neighborhood was dead. 
Henceforth we were as a family without a father. 
We were orphans in the world, and well-nigh pen- 
niless. 



206 i:^EVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

Why attempt to describe the funeral proper, which 
came several months later? The scene at the grave 
was re-enacted there. We had no magnificent funeral 
procession, but that was a genuine, heartfelt funeral 
none the less on that account. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



CALLED TO PREACH. 

Country preachers were, in the main, illiterate men 
ot strong, practical, common sense, full of faith, zeal and 
deep-toned piety. As a class, they labored hard all the 
week and preached on Sunday, without remuneration 
for their pulpit services. Preachers and church mem- 
bers, with few exceptions, held that it was wrong to pay a 
preacher anything at all for preaching. Methodists and 
Presbyterians were the first to advocate the doctrine that 
preachers should be supported by their flocks, so that they 
might devote all their time to the work of the ministry. 
This question was earnestly discussed throughout the 
country, and preachers and churches which contended 
that the ministry merited a support and ought to receive 
it, arrayed against themselves strong opposition and bit- 
ter prejudice in many communities. Xobody looked 
upon preaching as a mere profession, and for any man to 
have entered the ministry with a view simply to make a 
respectable living at the business, without a feeling of 
personal obhgation to save souls and a strong assurance 
that God had called him to preach the gospel, would 
have been to act the part of a hypocrite in the estima- 
tion of the whole world. The gifts of prayer, preach- 
ing and exhortation, in public, were more generally dis- 
tributed and universally exercised among church mem- 
bers then than now. Those who were not called by the 
Lord and ordained by the church, to preach the gospel, 
frequently took an humbler part in the pubhc work and 

(207) 



208 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

worship of the church, in prayer, exhortation, song 
service, experience meetings and altar exercises. 

It was, indeed, a rare thing to find a church member 
who did not take some part in the public work and 
worship of the church. In fact, no one could have any 
part at all in church work without rendering some 
personal service. There were no calls for money, and 
hence no chance for any man to satisfy his conscience 
with the thought that he had paid his part and there- 
fore discharged his duty. It was not the province of 
some to furnish the money and of others to do the work 
necessary to convert the world and run the church. 
Every soul had to work its way to heaven, so to speak. 

It is all well enough to cultivate the grace of giving 
in church work, but the idea that money can supplant 
personal service in religious matters is mischievous and 
ruinous. Munificent giving in a church is a blessed thing 
if coupled with zealous, personal service, but many 
churches give liberally and yet die daily. It is a fact wor- 
thy the most serious consideration, that many of the relig- 
ious denominations which to-day give most liberally to 
home and foreign missions make the slowest increase in 
membership. It is also a fact that some of the religious 
denominations which increase most rapidly in member- 
ship are not large givers to home or foreign missions. 
This is no argument against giving money to church 
work, but it demonstrates the folly of substituting 
money for personal service and individual effort and 
consecration in matters of religion. It is a cpiestion 
whether liberal giving, extravagant expenditures, and 
large schemes which require immense sums of money 
for carrying forward church work, really indicate a 
healthy spiritual condition in any religious body. The 
ecclesiastic history of the world, as well as the plain words 



PERSONAL SERVICE IN RELIGION. 209 

of the Savior, seems to indicate rather that the kingdom 
of heaven " cometh not with observation." The ages of 
spiritual decadence in the history of the church have I 
beheve, always been characterized by immense revenues 
large endowments, costly houses of worship and glitter- 
ing paraphernalia. All reformations in religion have suc- 
ceeded by the personal zeal of penniless advocates 
against the plethoric purses of richly endowed organiza- 
tions. When religious people depend more upon money 
than morality, collections than consecration, policy than 
prayer, vanity than virtue, looks than love, and fine 
houses than firm faith and pure hearts, the time of their 
dissolution as a religious body is at hand. Strong 
organizations, fine houses and plenty of money — all 
these things may be very well in their way, but without 
chanty they are but ^'sounding brass or a tinkling 
cymbal." 

Eeligion was far more universally respected then 
than now. In fact, every body believed in it, and tried 
hard to get it. I knew not an infidel or a skeptic in the 
whole country when I was a boy. Every body Avho 
could get religion was a member of some church, and 
those who could not get it rarely ceased to try, and 
never seemed to doubt the reality of heaven and hell, 
the existence of God and the inspiration of the Bible. 

The preacher who could get the longest sermon out 
of the shortest text, by guessing at what it might or 
might not mean, without the remotest idea as to what it 
really did mean, was considered the biggest preacher in 
the country. Monthly preaching was the order of the 
day in all churches, and no church pretended to meet 
at all except when the preacher came to his regular 
mothly appointment. Preachers frequently walked long 
distances, to their appointments, and, in warm weather, 
14 



210 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

rarely wore any coats. When the weather was cool 
enough for coats out of the pulpit, it was customary for 
a preacher to pull off his coat and hang it on a peg 
driven in an auger hole in the wall behind the pulpit, 
for his convenience, when he arose to begin his sermon. 
It was, indeed, a cold day when a parson wore his coat 
throughout his sermon. In many cases the brother 
would begin his remarks with his coat on, when the 
weather was very cold, and pull it off in the middle of 
his discourse, as he warmed to his work, without paus- 
ing a moment or losing a word in his vehement harangue. 
And as he approached the grand climax of earnestness 
and eloquence in his rousing exhortation, he not infre- 
quently unbuttoned the collar of his coarse, home-spun 
shirt. Throughout his exhortation he perspired pro- 
fusely, wildly gesticulated, frothed at the mouth, poured 
forth a mighty torrent of bad grammer, yelled at the 
full strength of his powerful voice, took frequent and 
copious draughts of water from a gourd, out of a home- 
made cedar bucket on the pulpit before him, and blew 
a perfect snow-storm of froth over the audience in every 
direction. 

The people formed their opinions of a sermon, not so 
much from what the preacher said, as the way he acted. 
They felt no particular interest in a message that was 
delivered without all those external evidences of earn- 
estness. Why should they ? It was the common faith 
of the country that the preacher knew what he was 
about, and if he did not act as though he thought the 
people were in danger and that he had the means with 
which to deliver them from their peril, why should they 
feel alarmed about it ? Would a mother whose daughter 
is in a burning building calmly read the indifferent girl 
>a short essay, sing the doxology, pronounce the bene- 



EARNESTNESS IN THE PULPIT. 211 

diction and go away without any manifestations of 
earnestness or alarm ? Those old-time preachers be- 
lieved in hell, and they believed that many people were 
in imminent danger. Their sermons were neither very 
logical nor very grammatical, it is true, and their 
deportment in the pulpit was never very dignified, but 
they were always deeply in earnest. And as for dig- 
nity, and grammar, and logic, and all that, they had 
quite as much of it as a modern pastor would display in 
making his escape, or in helping his children to make 
their escape, from a sinking vessel or a burning house. 
I have seen some very dignified men and women, 
in these modern times, slide down a ladder from a third- 
story window of a burning building, in the middle of 
the night, in a very undignified manner. There are 
probably two extremes touching this question of pulpit 
mannerism, and if we admit that those old-time 
preachers were on one extreme, it may be well, at the 
same time, to ask how far modern pastors are from the 
other ? 

The effect of such vehement eloquence, intense earn- 
estness and unwavering faith, in the pulpit, was manifest 
in the devotion and activity, in the pews, and the uni- 
versal respect for religion among those without the pale 
of all churches. 

The sturdy integrity of that generation is in strong 
contrast with the business trickery of modern times. 
Those old-time people rarely attempted to evade the 
payment of debts by taking advantage of legal exemp- 
tions and technicalities. Seduction was very rare and 
divorce unknown. For one man to have eloped with 
another's wife would have shocked the whole commun- 
ity. Business failures were rare, and creditors never 
pressed their claims against debtors in embarrassed cir- 



212 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

cumstances. I never knew of a case of embezzlement, 
breach of trust or suicide in those days. 

It was a mark of cowardice, and a disgrace, to carry 
concealed weapons. To have used a knife or a stick in 
a fight would have excited the contempt of the whole 
community. For a large man to attack a small one was 
an offense as grave as to insult a woman. If no man 
offered to defend a man too old, too feeble or too drunk 
to defend himself, when attacked, it was a disgrace to 
the whole community. 

I remember well the first murder that was ever com- 
mitted in our neighborhood. It spread consternation 
over the whole country. Farmers left their plows in 
the middle of the field, and all business stopped as sud- 
denly as if the angel of doom had sounded the knell of 
time. The whole neighborhood turned out and scoured 
the country day and night for days in succession in 
search of the murderer. 

In early days, Hard-shell Baptists, as they were call- 
ed, were the dominant religious party in our neighbor- 
hood. In fact, they had almost a monopoly of religion 
among us. A little later, however, the voice of the 
ubiquitous Methodist circuit rider was heard in the 
land, and in his wake came the Cumberland Presby- 
terian pastors and evangelists. Their coming inaugu- 
rated a war of words touching man's free agency and 
God's predestination, and stirred up no little contention 
and strife among the people on the questions of temper- 
ance, revivals, support of the ministry and education of 
preachers. .Preachers began to wear their coats in the 
pulpit and to give the book, chapter and verse where 
their texts could be found. 

When we finally began to pay preachers anything at 
all, we arranged a schedule of prices on a decidedly low 



FAYING THE PREACHER. 213 

scale. A Methodist circuit rider, if unmarried, received 
one hundred dollars per annum. If married, he receiv- 
ed one hundred and fifty dollars a year, and fifty dol- 
lars extra for each baby he had under ten years of age. 
This liberal i)remium upon Methodist babies, in fixing 
the wages of the ministry, was soon abandoned. 

Cumberland Presbyterian preachers and resident min- 
isters had no market value. Each one got what he 
could and managed to live on what he got. Primitive 
Baptist preachers never would accept any remuneration 
at all, and to the very last they protested and argued 
against the principle of paying preachers anything for 
their services. 

The figures named, tiow seem to be a very low price 
for gospel work, but a preacher came out about as well 
financially then as now. If married, his wife made his 
clothes and the neighborhood cobbler gave hun his 
shoes. If single, the women of the church made his 
clothes, and the people gave him his board and washing. 
Preachers passed ferries, bridges and toll-gates free, and 
blacksmiths charged them nothing for shoeing their 
horses. They really had but little use for money. They 
feasted on the very fat of the land free of charge, Avhere- 
ever they went. 

We had no Sunday-schools, but singing -schools 
flourished in every neighborhood. Ten days was the 
usual length of such schools, and it was customary to 
teach them only two days in each week. This stretched 
a school of ten days over five weeks, which just about 
covered the time between fodder-pulling and cotton- 
picking. Tlie singing teacher usually had three schools 
under headway at a time, so that he could give two 
days in the week to each school and throw in Sunday 
for good count. The schools were in different neigh- 



214 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

borlioods, of course, and as tlie country was sparsely 
settled and neigliborlioods were few and far between, a 
singing-school teacher would often have to ride on 
horse-back from sixty to seventy -five miles a week, to 
complete the circuit and visit all of his schools. Those 
who paid tuition in one school were permitted to attend 
any other schools the teacher had on hand at the 
time, free. Those who owned horses to ride, and who 
could spare the time, usually went the whole round 
with the teacher. It was no unusual thing there- 
fore, for a cavalcade of from twenty to thirty young 
people — boys and girls, young men and young women 
— to put in the whole summer riding the circuit 
with the singing teacher. Members of the two vis- 
iting schools were always the welcome guests of the 
school visited. The long rides between schools, as well 
as the recesses in class exercises and the evenings and 
mornings, at the homes of the people, were highly ap- 
preciated and carefully improved by the young people 
as faA^orable opportunities for courtship. 

We met at eight o'clock in the morning, brought our 
dinners with us, and sang till five o'clock in the evening 
— nine hours a day, hard singing, every day in the Aveek 
for five weeks on a stretch, right through the hottest 
part of the summer ! That's the way I learned to sing ! 

We learned nothing at all about the principles of 
music. Indeed our teachers knew nothing about either 
the science or art of music. They knew a few simple 
tunes, which they had learned by ear, and which they 
taught us to sing, very erroneously, the same way. The 
books we used had seven different shapes, for notes, 
to represent the seven degrees of the scale, and no 
teacher I ever knew in those days would have recognized 
his favorite and best known song if he had seen it in 



/ SINGING- SCHOOLS. 215 

'' round notes.*' I had been to several singing; schools, 
and, in fact, had about finished my musical education, 
before I ever heard of such a thing as " round notes," 
and the question was discussed throughout the country 
as to whether any man could possibly learn a new piece 
of music written in '' round notes." 

In our books, the four parts of music were called 
treble, tenor, counter and bass. The treble, in those 
old books, corresponds to our tenor in modern books, 
the tenor corresponds to our suprano, and counter to 
our alto. I have just examined Webster on these 
points, and, as usual, he seems to differ from us in those 
days as to the meaning of words. I am quite sure, 
however, that my memory is not at fault' as to what we 
called treble, tenor and counter, for many living wit- 
nesses confirm me. Women invariably sang treble, 
which corresponds to tenor in modern books. 

The class in a singing-school sat on four long benches 
in a hollow square, and the teacher stood, or rather ran 
at large, in the middle of the square. He " beat time " 
vigorously with long sweeps of his right hand and arm, 
up and down, right and left, and every singer in the 
class was required to closely imitate his every move- 
ment. His chief accomplishment was the ability to sing 
any part in the music, and whenever bass, tenor, counter 
or treble lagged behind or broke down in the perform- 
ance he would run across the house to the support of 
the broken or wavering line and bring up the strag- 
gling forces. When any one of the parts got ahead of 
the others in the performance, he would rush at the 
foremost man or woman in tlie squad that was singing 
too rapidly, stamp the floor, burst into the unruly part 
of the song at the full power of his stentorian voice and 
swing his long right arm more vigorously than ever, to 



216 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE, 

clieck tlie break-neck speed of tlie refractory warblers. 
By thus galloping around tlie square, lie managed to 
keep all parts going, and rarely failed to bring us all in 
on the home stretch within a few measures of the same 
time ! Such were the duties and accomplishments of 
the old-time singing-school teacher. 

When the five-weeks' term closed, the three schools 
met at some central point and closed the summer's work 
with a big, union, competitive singing. After the 
schools disbanded, the class in each neighborhood kept 
up regular singings every Sunday during the Fall, Win- 
ter and early Spring, and the next Summer went 
through a five-weeks' training again, in another regular 
sinofino^-school. Such trained classes were in 2:reat de- 
mand during revivals and in camp-meetings. Good sing- 
ers ranked next to good preachers and eloquent exhorters 
in working for mourners in the altar during a revival. 

Tlie annual camp-meetings were the harvest time for 
souls with all churches. Nine-tenths of all those who 
professed religion were converted in such meetings. 

A camp-meeting, as the name itself indicates, was a 
meeting of ten days or two weeks, during which those 
in attendance camped on the ground and kept up the 
exercises almost day and night. The congregations as- 
sembled, for public services, under an immense brush 
arbor or long, open shed covered with clapboards. The 
ground under the arbor, or shed, was covered Avitli 
wheat straw. To arrange seats, we placed large logs 
under the arbor, about ten feet apart, and laid on them 
rough slabs, split from poplar logs with maul and 
wedge, about three feet apart, in tiers the full length of 
the arbor. 

At night we lighted up the grounds about the arbor 



REVIVAL EXCITEMENT. 



217 




218 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

with pine-knot fires built on scafiblds of clapboards 
covered witli dirt or Hat rocks. 

The campers either built pens of small poles, cut from 
saplings, and covered them with clapboards, for sleep- 
ing apartments, or improvised tents for that purpose by 
stretching quilts, sheets and counterpanes around and 
over crude frames made of small poles. The women 
cooked in skillets, pots and ovens around fires in the 
open air, and served the repasts on long clapboard scaf- 
folds. Such meetings were held in warm weather, and 
hence the people slept comfortably on the ground in 
pole pens or crude tents with but little covering. 

During a camp-meeting we met at the stand under 
the brush arbor or clapboard shed for prayers every 
morning before breakfast. After breakfast we spent 
about an hour in secret prayer in the woods. At ten 
o'clock we assembled at the stand again for preaching, 
which continued till noon or a little after. From noon 
till two o'clock we took dinner. At two o'clock we as- 
sembled at the stand again for preaching, which lasted 
till four o'clock, after which we spent another hour at 
secret prayer in the woods. 'We took supper at ^ve 
o'clock, and assembled at the stand again for preaching 
and altar exercises at seven o'clock. From seven o'clock 
till we adjourned, which was often not till after mid- 
night and sometimes not till daylight the next morning, 
the exercises consisted of preaching, exhorting, praying, 
singing, calling mourners, shouting and work in the 
altar. 

In camp - meetings, Arminians preached, in almost 
every sermon, that salvation is free and that all are free 
to accept or reject it. Calvinists spent most of their 
time in the pulpit explaining the doctrine of predesti- 
nation in such a way as to put it beyond the power of 



A CAMP -MEETING HELL. 219 

the elect angels themselves to make heads or tails of the 
explanation. But when it came to exhortations, Armin- 
ians and Calvinists all put themselves out to their full 
powers in vivid and blood-curdling descriptions of the 
lake which hums with fire and brimstone, and in soul- 
moving word-pictures of heaven and immortal glory. 
Their descriptions of hell and the intense agony of the 
damned, were perfectly appalling. They represented 
the breath of an angry God as continually blowing the 
fiery waves of the sea of torment over the writhing 
souls of the damned. Billows of flame rose mountain 
high and o'er each other rolled, until they almost 
scorched the angels of pity and mercy which leaned 
over the battlements of heaven and lamented their lack 
of power to help the condemned and tortured souls of 
their earthly friends and relatives. Amidst this awful 
sea of flame and fury, the writhing souls of sinners 
damned lifted their fruitless wail of misery in hearing 
of the joyful shouts and songs of the redeemed of all 
ages and countries, who are forever rejoicing in the 
paradise of God. 

The preachers firmly believed it all, and the people 
never for a moment doubted it. The effect of such 
rugged eloquence and unquestioning faith was wonder- 
ful. Everybody was religious, or wanted to be, and 
those who doubted their acceptance with God were ex- 
cited almost to frenzy by such preaching and exhorta- 
tions. Immense audiences were thrown into the wild- 
est confusion, and hundreds of people completely lost 
all self-control and shrieked like maniacs. Scores of 
sinners under conviction Avould fall prostrate in the 
dust, and lie perfectly helpless for hours at a time, 
trembling and wailing as if they were already doomed 
to endless torture. In some cases the nervous system 



220 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

was wrecked and reason dethroned for all time by the 
intensity of the excitement. 

During the day and early part of the night some re- 
spect was paid to order and propriety in the exercises, 
but as the night advanced and the excitement increased, 
everythhig resembling order was forgotten or ignored. 
Seekers of religion no longer came quietly and kneeled 
separately at the altar of prayer. They came in. droves 
and threw themselves literally in heaps hi the straw 
wdiicli covered the ground in the altar. Some would be 
kneeling, some reclining on the rude benches about the 
altar, while scores would be lying prostrate on the 
ground, all agonizing and shrieking for mercy in an 
earnestness perfectly distressing to see. 

The friends and relatives of the mourners, as well as 
the whole congregation of religious people, did all they 
could to help on the work of grace and keep up the ex- 
citement and confusion. Some pounded the mourners 
on the back with their hands and fists, some talked to 
them about their dead friends and relatives, and some 
embraced them, while every body seemed to weep and 
shout at the same time. Some in the audience would 
be praying aloud, some singing, some rejoicing and. 
some mourning. Above all the confusion, the preach- 
ers, with voices like fog horns, kept up a continual ex- 
hortation about the beauties and glories of heaven, and 
the awful destiny of the damned in a horrible hell. 

In their intense excitement, the people would jump, 
dance, clap their hands, swing their bodies and jerk 
their heads forward and backward, throwing hats, bon- 
nets, and combs in every direction. The nervous ex- 
citement frequently produced muscular contortions, 
called "the jerks," vrhich caused the long hair of women 
to crack like coach-whips as their bodies and heads 



THE JERKS. 221 

jerked back and forth. During sucli periods of intense 
excitement the whole congregation, by some inexplica- 
ble nervous action, would sometimes be thrown into 
side-splitting convulsions of laughter. This was called 
the " holy laugh," and when it started in an audience no 
power could check or control it, till it ran its course. 
It would often last for hours at a time, and everybody 
in the audience, who was in sympathy with the excite- 
ment, would be seized with hearty convulsions of per- 
fectly natural laughter. 

At other times, the nervous excitement set the 
muscles to twitching and jerking at a fearful rate, and 
some of the leaders thus alfected would begin to skip, 
hop and jump, and finally settle down to regular, steady, 
straight-forward dancing. When the leaders got thor- 
oughly straightened out in a regular dance, all who 
were under the influence of the mental and nervous ex- 
citement would feel their muscles mysteriously twitch- 
ing and jerking in harmony with the movements of the 
leaders, and the next moment they would involuntarily 
join in the wild dance. This was called the "holy 
dance," and like the "holy laugh," it was simply un- 
governable till it ran its course. 

At other times the mental and nervous excitement 
would take the form of "the jerks," as already describ- 
ed, in the leaders, and all who were in sympathy with 
the excitement would involuntarily fall into the uni- 
form muscular movements of the leaders. When a 
man once started in a holy exercise of any kind, 
whether shouting, laughing, dancing or jerking, it was 
impossible for him to stop till exhausted nature broke 
down in a death-like swoon. 

The groaning, shouting, shrieking, singing, exhort- 



222 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

ing, laugliing, dancing, jerking and swooning made a 
medley of sights and sonnds no pen can describe. When 
they swooned, they woukl often lie, for honrs at a time, as 
unconscious as the dead, and physicians would sometimes 
have to be called, to restore them to consciousness 
again. In a few instances they died in that comatose 
state, in spite of all restoratives. 

One scene wdiich I witnessed in early boyhood will 
illustrate the character of preaching and religion pecul- 
iar to that age and country. 

A preacher of rare gifts in word-painting delivered a 
sermon to an audience of fully three thousand people 
one Sunday night at a camp-meeting. The interest 
had been unusually deep during the afternoon, and the 
vast audience w^as at the highest tension of excitement 
wdien the services began at night. The preacher closed 
an unusually earnest sermon with a powerful exhorta- 
tion, and asked every one in the audience who wanted 
to escape hell and meet him in heaven to signify it, at 
a given signal, by a clap of the hands and a shout of 
"glory." When the signal was given, that vast audi- 
ence, as one man, gave a clap of hands which sounded 
like a thunderbolt and a yell of "glory" almost loud 
enough to wake the dead. The effect was almost elec- 
trical. Scores of sinners shrieked for mercy in all parts 
of the vast audience, hundreds of happy Christians 
raised wild shouts of joy and the rest of the surging 
crowd united their voices in a familiar song. The 
negro slaves were coming from all parts of the country 
to the meeting, and were scattered all over the woods 
for a mile around the camp-ground, when the storm of 
fuss and excitement burst under the arbor. The noise 
frightened them and they began to shriek for mercy and 
to pray aloud all over the woods, in the darkness, as 



A CAMP -MEETING ROW. 223 

though the devil himself were at their heels. There 
were hundreds of dogs in the camp, as usual, and, ex- 
cited by the unusual noise and confusion, they rushed 
into the woods and the darkness in every direction, 
yelping as if a whole menagerie of wdld beasts had been 
suddenly let loose among them. In a few mon:^ents 
they raised a free fight and a general row among them- 
selves, and every dog on the grounds rushed into the 
fray. When the canine forces were all mustered, there 
was probably a square acre of yelping, snapping, fight- 
ing dogs within a few rods of the arbor. There were 
several hundred horses, mules, oxen and wagons on the 
grounds, and the unusual confusion, fuss and excite- 
ment stampeded the animals. The scene beggars de- 
scription. Three thousand people in an uproar, hun- 
dreds of dogs yelping and fighting, negroes screaming 
and praying in every direction and a thousand frighten- 
ed mules, hor83S and oxen dashing madly through the 
woods in the darkness — it was worse than bedlam let 
loose. 

If a camp-meeting was not " a feast of reason, and a 
flow of soul," it was at least a feast of the best things the 
country could afford. It was a happy time for all ex- 
cept the toiling Avives, mothers and sisters of the camp- 
ers. The labors of such women began a week before 
the meeting — preparing for it — and continued a week 
or ten days after it, straightening up the confusion it 
caused. 

During the meeting, we rose at early dawn every 
morning, and after a hasty breakfast assembled, at the 
tooting of a cow's horn, for morning prayers at the 
arbor. The women had to remain in the camps to 
" clean up " and prepare dinner. 

The season of camp-meetings lasted about two 



224 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

months in the hottest part of the summer. Such 
meetings were grand institutions for a worthless, 
thriftless set of poverty-stricken dead-beats, such as 
cursed every community. Such people always attend- 
ed camp-meetings for the loaves and the fishes. 



CHAPTER XIV, 



CAMP-MEETING HOLY GHOST. 

It was the common faith of the country that the ex- 
citement and capers of the people at camp-meetings 
were manifestations of the operation of the Holy Ghost 
on their hearts. Whether a man " shouted," " danced," 
"jerked" or "laughed," as a religious exercise, it was 
the work of the great Spirit in him. 

Those who engaged in such exercises were conscious 
that their actions were involuntary. Whatever expla- 
nation may be given of those peculiar exercises, the 
fact that they were involuntary can not be denied. It 
is not the province of this book to explain the religious 
phenomena of those days. It seems pertinent to de- 
scribe the religious exercises which characterized that 
queer generation, but beyond a statement of the facts 
of history it is not deemed prudent to venture in these 
pages. 

The earnestness of preachers and people in matters 
of religion, as evidenced in such preaching and exer- 
cises as have been but imperfectly described, is worthy 
of special note. Whatever maybe said as to the Script- 
uralness of their performances, there is no reason to 
doubt the sincerity of their motives or the vigor of 
their faith. Preachers and people evidently believed in 
the reality of heaven and hell, and shoAved their faith 
by their works. There was no such thing as playing at 
religion with them. 

I remember well when first a few religious teachers 
15 • (225) 



226 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

began openly to express doubt as to whether the Holy 
Ghost caused all the excitement and absurd antics 
which usually attended a successful revival. Such 
doubters boldly expressed the opinion that "the jerks," 
''the holy laugh," "the holy dance," the vociferous 
" shouting " and the death-like swooning indulged in 
by religious people were all caused by mental and 
nervous excitement. This stirred up no little strife, 
contention and prejudice in religious circles. 

Those who believed that such excitement was the work 
of the Holy Ghost, publicly and bitterly denounced all 
those who referred it to other causes as enemies of spir- 
itual religion and teachers of dangerous doctrine. Such 
teachers were denounced from all the orthodox pulpits 
as unsound in the faith and excluded from the churches 
for heresy. Excitement ran high and prejudice was in- 
tense against them. Parents would not sufter their 
children to hear them preach, and all churches were 
closed against them. Preachers even- refused to an- 
nounce appointments for them, and the people were 
publicly warned, from all orthodox pulpits, of the dan- 
ger of hearing their doctrine. 

They were publicly charged with having committed 
the unpardonable sin against the Holy Ghost, and 
severely abused as rebels against God and enemies of 
all mankind. To say "the jerks," "the holy laugh" 
and "the holy dance" were caused by mental and nerv- 
ous excitement was considered a personal insult by all 
who engaged in such things. That such things were 
the work of the Holy Ghost was a proposition which 
every man, who had taken part in them, thought he 
could establish by his own consciousness. It did not 
occur to the believers in such things, nor could they be 
made to understand, that they might be wrong them- 



THE HERETICS. 227 

selves in attributing emotions of which they were con- 
scions, to the Holy Ghost. They were conscious of cer- 
tain emotions, and they knew they " hiughed," "danced " 
and "jerked," as rehgious exercises, involuntarily. Be- 
yond this they seemed utterly incapable of reasoning on 
the subject. They would not for a moment consider 
the idea that something entirely different from the Holy 
Ghost may have caused their peculiar emotions and 
involuntary actions. The man who doubted that such 
things were caused by the Holy Spirit, simply disputed 
their veracity as they understood it. 

In many cases those who opposed such excessive ex- 
citement and peculiar demonstrations in religion were 
children of fathers and mothers who had served God 
after that manner all their lives and died in the belief 
that such things were the work of the Holy Spirit. 
Their doubts, therefore, were openly construed as reflec- 
tions upon the veracity of their deceased parents. Of 
all men, such doubters were the most cordially hated by 
orthodox preachers and church members throughout 
the country. They were excluded from churches, ostra- 
cised from society, abused by the preachers and bitterly 
persecuted by the whole country. [^Nevertheless, they 
boldly proclaimed their views, and their heresy spread 
rapidly among the people. 

The rise and progress of those new and unpopular 
doctrines touching the work of the Holy Spirit and the 
excitement of the people in religious revivals, changed 
the whole order of religious exercises and inaugurated 
a new era in preaching and Bible study. The people 
began to give closer attention to what preachers said 
and to care less about how they acted in the pulpit. 
Audiences demanded less sound and more sense in ser- 
mons. Preachers began to use more mind and less muscle 



228 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

in tlie pulpit. Exhorters quit drawing upon tlieir im- 
aginations for l)lood-curdling descriptions of hell, and 
began to set forth " the whole duty of man," as taught 
in the Bible, to move people to accept salvation. 
Scripture texts were no longer misquoted, from memo- 
ry, and vaguely cited as " somewhere betwixt the lids 
of the good Book," with but little regard for their real 
meaning ; but carefully hunted up, closely studied, ac- 
curately read, and correctly expounded to the people. 
The Avorld ceased to regard the Bible as good for noth- 
ing but to supply boisterous preachers with discon- 
nected texts for meaningless sermons, and began to 
study it closely, and prize it highly, as an inspired vol- 
ume which reveals to all men the will of God, touching 
matters of personal purity and individual duty. Men be- 
gan to lose respect for the authority of the church, and 
listen to the voice of God addressing them through the 
Bible. The doctrine of equal rights to all and special 
privileges to none, found a new application and many 
advocates in the matter of studying, understanding, 
and expounding the Scriptures. The people boldly de- 
nied the right of church or clergy to stand between 
them and the Bible, in the form of authoritative creeds, 
confessions of faith or books of discipline. The point 
was strongly urged, that, in the Bible, God has spoken, 
not to preachers, churches, councils, or conventions of 
ecclesiastical dignitaries, but to every creature in every 
nation. It was insisted that God is competent to speak, 
and that he has spoken, to the world, in the Bible, with- 
out an interpreter. It is not the province of learned 
leaders in religion, the people argued, to sit in solemn 
council and inform the world, in authoritative creeds, 
confessions of faith, books of discipline, or other doctri- 
nal standards, what the Bible means and teaches on 



AUTHORITY OF THE SCRIPTURES, 229 

diltereiit subjects. The Bible was declared to be its 
own interpreter. The point was boldly made that no 
man has a right to make his understanding of the Bi- 
ble the rule of another man's faith. This was a visfo- 
rous blow at the very foundation of the whole super- 
structure of denominational bigotry, among Protestants, 
and Ecclesiastical authorit}" and infallibility among Cath- 
olics. It was the beginning of the end of bigotry in re- 
ligion in this country. Denominational intolerance 
in religion rests, not upon the Bible, but upon what 
the fathers, founders and leaders of the denominations 
think the Bible teaches. To deny to any man the right 
to make his understanding of the Bible the rule of an- 
other man's faith, and to guarantee to every man the 
right to study, understand and obey the Bible for him- 
self, unhampered by what other men think the Bible 
teaches, as expressed in doctrinal standards, was to at 
once lay the ax to the very root of the tree of religious 
bigotry and denominational intolerance. 

Under the new order of things in religion, supersti- 
tious regard for a divinely called and specially qualified 
ministry gradually gave Avay before an intelligent faith 
in the teachings of the Scriptures. The ministry lost 
prestige, but the Bible gained power with the people. 
Preachers were no longer "considered the particular pets 
and favorites of God, called and qualified by special 
revelations of the Holy Ghost, to lead the people in mat- 
ters of religion. The idea that God, in the Bible, 
speaks directly to each individual soul, Avithout the 
intervention or mediation of a divinely called and 
qualified ministry, grew in favor with the people daily. 

The chosen priesthood, or divinely called and quali- 
fied ministry, was finally attacked boldly in its strong- 
hold. The people began to openly doubt whether God 



230 SEVEXTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

specially called and qualified men to preach the gospel 
by particular revelations and manifestations of the Holy 
Ghost. They began to argue that all ideas of special 
calls to the ministry originated, like ''the jerks," the 
"holy laugh," and the ''holy dance," in excitement, 
anxiety, ignorance, tradition and superstition. The 
preachers who claimed that God had called them to 
preach, met all such arguments by their own direct tes- 
timony, and indignantly resented all such theories as 
impeachments of their sincerity and veracity. They held 
that their divine call and special qualification, by the 
Holy Ghost, to preach the gospel, was simply a question 
of fact which could be as clearly attested, by their own 
consciousness, as a pain in the back. The people met 
this argument of the preachers in ways which were of- 
ten as amusing as they were damaging to the claims of 
tJie Lord's specially called and qualified preachers. 

Those who desired to be preachers had to wait until 
the Lord called them. Sometimes a man would wait 
and pray for a call for weeks, months, and even years. 
When he finally received what he considered evidence 
that God had called him to preach, he had to appear 
before the church and state his case. If the church ap- 
proved his evidence of a call, the proper authorities or- 
dained him to the ministry ; otherwise they advised him 
to wait for other and clearer evidence of his call. It was 
no unusual thing for the church to decide that what the 
preacher himself considered indubitable evidence of a 
call to the ministry, was really no evidence at all. 
This put an argument into the mouths of those 
who did not believe in such things, which those 
who did believe in them found it difficult to answer. 
When the church was continually deciding that men 
could be deceived, and often had been deceived, 



EVIDENCE OF CALLS TO PREACIL 231 

as to their call to the ministry, the doubters 
did not have far to look in "order to find an answer 
to the claim of the preachers, that a call to the ministrj^ 
was simply a question of fact which could he as satis- 
factorily attested, by a man's consciousness, as a 
physical pain. 

The doubters still further worried the saints by ob- 
jecting to the idea that the church had a right to a veto 
power against the Lord in the matter of calling preach- 
ers. The call of the Lord without the approval and li- 
cense of the church, was not operative. This seemed 
to be putting the Lord below the church, in point of 
authority. The church really sat in judgment upon the 
Lord's work. It was argued by the doubters, that, as 
preachers were called to preach the gospel, not to the 
church, but to the world, unbelievers were the proper 
ones to pass upon the evidence of a preacher's call to 
the ministry. Such arguments tended to make church- 
es more lenient to those who desired to preach, and in 
a few years they got so they would accept, as good, any 
evidence which an applicant for license to preach might 
give of his call to the ministry. Such laxity, however, 
suggested to the doubters another plan to vex the 
saints and demonstrate the fallacy of the doctrine of 
divine calls to the ministry. 

A man who was known to be waiting and pray- 
ing for a call to preach, w^as plowing corn one hot day 
in June. One of the doubters climbed a tree and con- 
cealed himself among its leafy branches, in the forest 
near the field. In a solemn, sepulchral voice, the man 
in the tree called the plowman and would-be parson 
by name, and told him to go preach the gospel. Sever- 
al witnesses of undoubted veracity, who could be relied 
upon for secrecy, were stationed in the woods near 



232 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

tlie field to hear the call and observe the result. The 
plowman, without investigation, raised a great shout of 
rejoicing, unharnessed his horse in much haste, and ran 
at once to bear the joyful news of his call to preach, to 
some of the leading members of his church. At the next 
meeting of the church the evidence of his call was heard 
and approved, and he was ordained to the ministry. This 
case was cited by the doubters throughout the country 
as an absolute demonstration that both preacher and 
church could be deceived as to a call to the ministry. 

'Eo one doubted the sincerity or veracity of those 
who claimed that God had called and qualified them to 
preach, or of those who took part in "the jerks," the 
"holy laugh," and the "holy dance." Of course be- 
lievers, as well as unbelievers, admitted that there were 
some hypocrites among them, but everybody admitted 
the sincerity and honesty of the great majority of such 
zealots. The main argument against such things was, 
that those who believed in them were simply deceived. 
The clear issue on these questions greatly stimulated 
and encouraged public interest in religion and led to a 
more general study of the Bible. 

The people argued, studied, preached, and contended 
about the doctrine of the Bible on all these questions 
continually. Even little children took a deep interest 
in such questions, and read the Bible daily to see what 
it taught concerning them. In a very few years every- 
body was well informed as to the teachings of the Bi- 
ble. Many people committed much of the Holy 
Scriptures to memory, and carried Bibles in their pock- 
ets constantly. It w^as a rare thing to find half a dozen 
men together without two or three Bibles in the crowd, 
or to hear a conversation of a few hours without a relig- 
ious discussion. It was no unusual thins: to hear a man 



NEW DOCTRINES. 233 

quote verse after verse, or even whole chapters, of 
Scripture from memory, in an argument, and tell the 
exact place in the Bible where it could be found. 

The people seemed to understand the teachings of the 
Bible better than the divinely called and specially quali- 
fied preachers. While the latter depended upon their di- 
vine calls and qualifications, the former relied upon the 
Bible, and studied it night and day for information on 
religious subjects. It was nothing uncommon to see a 
plain clod-hopper, with open Bible, pointing out the 
errors in a sermon of one of God's specially called and 
qualified preachers, before the audience left the house. 

The doctrines and practices of the whole religious 
world were closely compared with the exact words and 
plain meaning of the Bible, and at every point of con- 
flict, the Scriptures steadily gained ground against the 
traditions, prejudices, and superstitions of illiterate re- 
ligious bigots. 

In the very beginning of the revolution in religious 
faith and practice, the adherents of the Bible, against 
tradition and superstition, planted themselves upon the 
proposition, that God, by revelations of the Holy 
Ghost, has clearly stated the whole duty of man in the 
Bible. All parties to the discussions admitted that the 
Scriptures of the Old and 'New Testaments were given 
by the Holy Spirit through inspired men, and those who 
stood for the Bible against tradition, excitement and 
superstition, stoutly argued that the Holy Ghost, oper- 
ating directly upon the heart of a man, would not lead 
him to do things which the same Holy Ghost, speaking 
through inspired men in the Bible, had not taught him 
to do. From these premises it was confidently argued 
that the Holy Ghost could not possibly be the author 
of any emotion in any man's heart, which would 



234 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

prompt him to do what the Bible teaches no one to clo. 
To say the Holy Ghost has not fully taught man's 
whole duty in the Bible, was to question the complete- 
ness and fullness of God's revelations of his will in the 
Bible. To admit that the Bible does teach man's 
whole duty, was to admit that the Holy Ghost does not, 
in any case, move people to do things which are not 
taught at all in the Bible. This was a hard dilemma for 
those who believed that the Hol}^ Ghost was the author 
of emotions in their hearts, which prompted them to do 
many things they coukl not hnd the least authority for 
in the Scriptures. Before such reasoning, the " holy 
laugh," the "holy dance," "the jerks," "shouting," 
"altar exercises," "divine calls to the ministry," and 
everything else in religious faith and practice not 
taught in the Bible, gradually gave way. The people 
w^ere thoroughly aroused on religious questions, and 
they had the courage of their convictions. The 
changes came slowly in some places, but they came 
steadily and surely. Men threw tradition and supersti- 
tion to the winds, and walked by fiiith, which came by 
hearing the word ot God, in all matters pertaining to re- 
ligion. Every inch of ground was hotly contested, and 
every qnestion of religious faith and practice was care- 
fully investigated and thoroughly discussed in the 
change from the old to the new order of things in re- 
ligion. Whenever a man, who had set his heart upon 
adhering to the Bible in all matters pertaining to 
religion, decided that he was holding any doctrine, or 
following any practice through superstition, tradition, 
or prejudice, without Scripture authority, he at once 
changed his course. 

In the midst of a great revival, when the altar was 
crowded with mourners, and the whole congregation 



TEARING DOWN THE ALTAR. 235 

was " shouting," "jerking," " laughing," and " dancing," 
the leading preacher in the revival became convinced 
from his study of the Bible, that there was no Scriptural 
authority for such things, and while the congregation 
was taking dinner and recreation, at noon, he tore down 
the " altar," carried off the " mourners' benches," scat- 
tered the "straw," and pronounced the benediction 
upon that department of the exercises of the meeting. 
He then called the congregation together and asked the 
people and " the mourners " to be quiet the rest of the 
meeting, to listen to the reading of the Scriptures and 
to sober words of instruction and exhortation, and to 
give themselves in prayer, humility, earnestness and 
faith, to the service of God as taught in the Bible. 

In this chapter I have described the change 
from the old to the new order of things in rural 
districts, within the bounds of my own acquaintance. 
While there was a similar change in religious circles 
about that time all over the South, it may not have 
been brought about in every locality in exactly the 
same way. I only describe what I saw, heard, and took 
an active part in myself, in the rather limited circle of 
my acquaintance. Whether the things I have de- 
scribed prevailed over the South generally, or only in 
certain localities, I presume not to say. If the reader 
is in doubt on that point, he must look to other sources for 
informatiou. 



CHAPTER XY. 



AN EXPERIENCE MEETING, 

Those who believed in an excess of excitement, and 
who took part in *' shouting," "jerking," "dancing," 
and " laughing," in religious exercises, relied largely 
upon experience meetings to start a revival. In such 
meetings each one told his own experience of the work 
of grace in his heart, in turning him from darkness to 
light, and from the power and dominion of satan unto 
the worship and service of God. 

In one of these experience meetings, a miserable old 
sinner and noted backslider, told how he was first 
checked in his wild career of sin, by the death of his 
lovely and beloved little girl. For a time he was faith- 
ful to the Lord and zealous in the good cause, but, by 
and by, he longed for the flesh-pots of sin, and turned 
back in his heart and life to the weak and beggarly 
elements of the world. Again God arrested him, in his 
downward course to ruin, by the death of another be- 
loved little daughter. He lived a consistent Christian 
life for a few months after the death of his second 
child, but in an evil hour again yielded to temptation, 
and was led captive by the devil at his will. God came 
to his rescue again, in the death of his third and last 
little one. He lived righteously before God for a few 
weeks, and then went over the line into the devil's 
dominions again. Once more, and but a few weeks 

ago, God again snatched him as a brand from the burn- 

(236) 



A GOOD EXPERIENCE. 237 

iug, and called him to repentance by tlio dcxitli of his 
beloved wife. And now he stood alone in the world, 
bereft of wife and all his children, whom he was hoping 
and striving to meet in the Christian's home in glory. 

It was a good experience, well told, and not without 
a good effect upon all who believed in such things. It 
started quite a revival in the meeting. But a man who 
did not believe in such things, threw a damper over the 
excitement aroused by the story, by saying, in the 
hearing of many people in the congregation: "Well, 
I must say, the Lord has managed this case very badly. 
He has killed one good woman and three innocent 
little children trying to save this old back-slider, and 
the chances are that. the devil will get the old humbug 
yet. The next time he gets drunk and goes to pieces 
generally, there will be no wife or beloved little chil- 
dren to kill, and hov/ will God ever get him straight 
any more ? If I had been managing this case, wlien I 
had to kill that first child to get the old fraud straight, 
I would have broken his neck with a stroke of light- 
ening, and sent him on to glory just as soon as I got 
him on the right track." 

In traveling through the hill country of the South a 
few years ago, I fell in company with a superannuated 
deacon, whose memory of men and movements 
extended back to the first years of the present century. 
He talked freely about the changes I have been trying 
to describe in religious faith and practice, and his story 
was full of interest to me. Followinsr a custom of sev- 
era! years standing, I took down some of the most inter- 
esting parts of the ex-deacon's reminiscences, and here 
give a transcript of a few pages of my note book, with 
slight changes and emendations : 

"Yes, sir! I'm a quar sort uv a bein', stranger, any 



238 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

way you take me. I never seen a book uv any kind on 
surveyin', fur instance, an' yit, I'm a nat'ral born 
surveyor. Ik'n foller a line any cl'rection, over any 
kind uv country, and tlirougli all sorts nv weather, jest 
as easy as a houn' can foller a fox. My wife I'arnt me 
how to read, an' 'er uncle I'arnt me how to write, an' I 
I'arnt everything else myself. 

f' When I fust moved to this country I settled in the 
Mississippi bottoms, jest over on the Arkansaw side uv 
the river, because tliar were oodles of b'ar an' other 
game in the caneb rakes, an' I guess I'd a bin thar yit, a 
bossin' niggers, an' a-drivin' mules, an' a-raisin' cotton, 
if I hadn't a hearn Josh Atkinson preach. Josh wuz a 
rattlin' good preacher them days, an' he changed my 
idces consider'ble. I got my fust stock uv religion frum 
Josh, an' hit wuz this shoutin', happy sort o' reg'lar 
old-fashioned, camp-meetin', fire 'n' brimstone religion, 
too. In them days Josh Atkinson could put more 
rousement into a meetin' with one pra'r an' fi.ye minutes 
zortin' than folks ever hearn uv in these times. 

''I quit the bottoms, an' Josh he went into partner- 
ship with a real edicated preacher in camp-meetin' 
work. The edicated parson could preach fust rate, but 
he couldn't pray nor zort wuth a cent. But let me tell you, 
him an' Josh made a whole team when they went into 
partnership. The main thing in a meetin' them days 
wuz good zortin' an' pra'r, but you had to have a little 
preachin' fur fillin', uv course. Well, Josh, he never 
could preach wuth shucks, but the other feller could 
preach from the word go, an' Josh, he knowed how to 
put in the rousement. Folks these days don't know 
nothin' 'bout rousin' times in a meetin'. I come o' that 
sort o' stock myself. My folks has always bin good at 
rousin' things up at meetin' or any where else they go. 



GOOD MORALS. 239 

as fur back as I ever liearu tell on 'em. We used to 
make it mighty interestin' fur the other side iu a fist 
tight, before any uv ns j'ined the church. When we 
fust settled in Arkansaw we jest had to fight almost day 
an' night to keep up the morals uv the country. I 
didn't care a cent fur religion in them days, but I 
always did stand squar' up for good morals. So did all 
my folks, an' we jest would have good morality where- 
ever we lived, if we had to lick the whole country ever' 
day to git it. Arkansaw wuz a awful place in them 
days, an' I recon me 'n' my folks did more to keep up 
the morals uv the neighborhoods we lived in, even before 
any uv us j'ined the church, than anybody else an' his 
folks in the whole country. 

"My father wuz always a law-abin' citizen, but he'd 
fight ever' time when a man tried to run over the morality 
uv the country. He fit Uncle Sam Dangrum in ]^orth 
Car'liny, before any uv us ever seen this country, an' 
bit oft his nose — bit the thing clean off up to his head 
an' swallered it! Uncle Sam Dangrum wuz a tryin' 
to run over the morals uv the country, an' my father 
jest couldn't stan' that, an' so they fit, an' off come 
Uncle Sammy's nose. We all called him Uncle Sam, 
an' so did everybody else, but he won't no nat'ral kin to 
us. Well, that wuz about the biggest bite any uv my 
folks ever took, an' it come mighty nigh a bein' more'n 
we all could chaw ! You see, it wuz ag'in the law to 
bite off a man's nose in them days, an' so we all had to 
light out fur Arkansaw. My mother run away frum 
her folks an' married my father when she wuz fourteen 
years old, an' she had eighteen children, an' so we 
made a right smart settlement when we got to 
Arkansaw." 

At this point I ventured to remind him that he 



240 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

started out to tell me something about his recollection 
of the days when religious excitement ran high all over 
the country, and preachers and church members put in 
the " rousement" at revival meetings. He said: 

" Oh, yes ; I quit the bottoms and follered Josh an' 
his partner around to all their camp-meetin's, jest to 
enjoy the rousement. Well, sir, that edicated preachin' 
partner what Josh went in cahoot with in the camp- 
meetin' business, soon turned ag'in Josh's pra'rs, an' 
zortin', an' rousement. Hit wuz a sight to hear 'em 
argy. At fust, I thought the edicated chap wuz ag'in 
Josh jest because the folks all liked Josh's rousement 
better 'n his highfaloot'n sarmints, an' I wuz as mad as 
blazes an' right in fur lickin' 'im. I felt ag'in 'im jest 
adzackly like I use ter feel ag'in a man as tried to run 
over the morals uv the country in my fightin' days, 
before I j'ined the church, but the more I studied 'bout 
it, the stronger his p'ints looked. 

" He said it wuz all excitement, an' folks w^ould git 
jest as shoutin' happy when they wuz w^rong as they 
would wdien they wuz right, providin' they hdicved they 
Avuz right. He said the main thing in religion wuz to 
love God with all your heart and to love your neigld^or 
as yourself, anyhow^, an' he couldn't see why folks 
should make such stark fools uv theirselves a-lovin' 
God an' their neighbors. He said he thought it 
would be better to put in the time we spent a-ycllin' 
an' a-cavortin' all over keration, in doin' the wuU uv 
God as it wuz laid down in the Bible, an' a-carryin' 
food an' clothin' to our neighbors as wuz needy. He 
said a young man never went crazy with 'the jerks,' 
an' the 'holy laugh,' an' the 'holy dance,' an' the 
' shoutin ' when he wuz a-lovin' his sweetheart, an' a 
man never cut sich capers a-lovin' his wife, an' a child 



PUTTING IN THE ROUSEMENT. 241 

never took on so a-lovin' its mother, an' a mother never 
went into sich spells a-lovin' her children, an' he didn't see 
why folks should raise sich a rousement a-lovin' God an' 
their neighbors, which wuz the main thing in religion. 

"Well, sir, the more he talked in this way, the 
plainer it all looked to me. Sich talk soon took all the 
rousement out'n Josh, pore feller, an' he drawed out 'n 
the firm an' quit the preachin' business He never 
took any hand in reg'lar gospil work after that. He 
wuzn't wuth a cent fur sich preachin' as is done these 
days nohow. He always said as how he loved God, an' 
he loved his neighbors, an' he always attended all the 
meetin's 'o the church, an' tried to do his dooty as a 
Christian, an' he took a hand in every good work, but 
after they quit the rousement in revivals he never tried 
to do no reg'lar gospil work in the pulpit. I have done 
the same way, an' I recon its right an' proper, but it don't 
look like religion alongside uv the way we use to carry 
on in camp-meetin s. 

" I want to hire a han' to help me make a crap nex' 
year, an' I want one as don't drink nor cuss. I don't 
want sich wickedness about me, an' I won't have it 
neither. I had a good han' a-workin' with me fur ten 
dollars a month, but I found out he wuz a-drinkin' an' 
a-cussin' on the sly, and so I told him he must quit it 
or quit me one. I offered to raise his wages to twelve 
dollars a month if he would quit drinkin' an' cussin', 
but he said as how he Avouldn't quit cussin' an' drinkin' 
fur two dollars a month fur no man, an' so I paid him 
off an' he quit." 

This old man was simply a piece of theological drift- 
wood, left high and dry on the bank of the spiritual 
channel, by the great flood of religious excitement 
which swept over the entire country about the begin- 
16 



242 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

nmg of the present century. He was a high-water 
mark of the clerical ignorance and religions "ronse- 
ment" which prevailed thronghont the conntry in 
rural districts less than a century ago. 

Those who were excluded from the various religious 
denominations as heretics for opposing religious fanati- 
cism, clerical ignorance, divine calls to the ministry and 
all other forms of superstition, prejudice and bigotry, 
went right on with such religious work and worship as 
they understood the Bible to teach, independent of all 
denominations and without any written creed or doc- 
trinal standard but the Bible. They insisted that a 
man could be a Christian and go to heaven by doing 
the will of God as taught in the Bible, without formal 
connection with any denomination in religion. Each 
man among them studied the Bible for himself, formu- 
lated his own faith and engineered his own religion. 
They argued questions earnestly among themselves, 
and on many points differed widely in their convictions, 
but each man held iirmly to his Bible and contended 
for his ri<rht to formulate his own faith without dicta- 
tion from others. They never settled upon any fixed 
system of doctrine, or subscribed to any statement of 
their faith, except the Bible. They refused to organize 
themselves into a general denomination, or to yield any 
of their individual liberties in religious faith and prac- 
tice to denominational authority. Their doctrines 
spread, their numbers multiplied and their wealth 
increased, year by year. Gradually their heresy 
«eemed to evaporate, and their orthodoxy began to ap- 
pear. In course of time they were considered orthodox 
by all denominations in religion, and those people who 
excluded them from churches for heresy a few decades 
before, were universally regarded as fanatical, igno- 



ORTHODOXY. 243 

rant, superstitious, over-zealous religious bigots. 

Verily, orthodoxy and heresy are strange things in 
religion. It is doubtful whether orthodoxy really 
means anything but the big side in a doctrinal argu- 
ment in religion, and heresy is probably but another 
name for the minority in a division of a church on 
questions of doctrine. Orthodoxy with one generation 
is ignorance and superstition with the next, and the 
heresy of the father is often the orthodoxy of the sou. 



CHAPTER XYI. 



THE BEGINNING OF MACHINERY. 

The cotton gin was invented in 1793, but people, 
picked the seeds out of cotton with their lingers in 
some parts of the South more than a third of a century 
after that date. This shows how slow they were to 
adopt new improvements in those days. Several rea- 
sons may be assigned for such tardiness. A cotton gin 
by itself is worth but little in manufacturing cotton 
croods. Without other machinery to fully equip a fac- 
tory, it is a matter of little consequence whether the 
seeds be removed from the lint by a gin or with the 
lingers. If we must card, spin, warp and weave by 
hand, we may as well pick the seeds out of the cotton 
the same way. 

Improved machinery for doing things is all well 
enough if you have enough of it. But one piece of 
machinery is of no great consequence in the process, 
when nearly all the work must be done slowly and 
tediously by hand. When the cotton , gin was 
invented, therefore, it had to sit in idleness nearly fifty 
years, till other machinery could be invented, in order 
to make the manufacture of cotton goods an industry of 
some consequence. 

It takes considerable capital and no little ingenuity 
to establish and operate a factory of any kind. There 
were not money and skilled labor enough in the 
United States to manufacture cotton goods, or anything 

(244) 



SLOW PROGRESS OF MACHINERY. 245 

else, on a very large scale seventy years ago. It took 
more than half a century to accumulate the wealth, de- 
velop the ingenuity and educate the labor necessary to 
manufacture anything ot much consequence, even after 
the public mind was turned in that direction. 

The demand for goods of all kinds was hardly large 
enough to make manufacturing a business of much im- 
portance. It would not pay to buy machinery, build a 
factory and train a full crew of hands, in order to make 
one suit of clothes. When the country was sparsely 
settled and the habits of life were simple and inexpen- 
sive, it was cheaper to make such things as the people 
needed, by hand, than to try to build factories for that 
purpose. 

There was no way to get manufactured goods to the 
people, in those days, even if there had been the best of 
facilities for manufacturing everything that was needed. 
There was not a railroad in the world, and not even a 
respectable wagon road in this country. General 
Jackson had to cut a road through an almost unbroken 
forest from Tennessee to Louisiana when he marched 
his army to the famous battle of l^ew Orleans. There 
were no boats on any of the rivers in the South but flat- 
boats, and they would not run up stream. 

The fastest mails in the country were carried on 
horse-back or in stages, between important points, at 
the rate of about six miles an hour. It took twenty- 
five cents to pay the postage on a letter, and such other 
packages as now pass through the mails could not 
then be sent at all. 

There were few banks, no express companies and no 
post-office money orders. The only way to send freight 
was by wagons or on pack horses, and the only way to 
send money was to go and take it. It would have 



246 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



been an expensive business for a factory in Michigan to 
have tried to sell goods in Alabama. 

The first railroad ever built in the South, so far as I 




am informed, was in Alabama, between Decatur and 
Tuscumbia. The track was simply flat bars of iron, 



THE FIRST RAILROAD. 247 

sucli as we now use for wagon tires, nailed to pieces of 
wood, called stringers. The stringers were hewed 
square, with broad-axes, and placed upon cross-timbers, 
such as are now used for cross-ties on railroads. The 
motive power of the train was an old mule, and the 
entire length of the road was forty-five miles. The 
track was fastened to the stringers by short nails driv- 
en through holes, in the ends of the iron, into the wood. 
The cross-timbers were wide apart, and the stringers 
would spring downward in the middle under a heavy 
load. This would bend the track and pull the nails, 
which held it down, out of the wood. When thus 
loosed from the stringers, the ends of the iron bars 
would bend upwards and stand up several inches high. 
When these bent ends rose up high enough to strike 
the car wheels above the center, they would plunge up 
through the bottom of the car, as the wheels ran under 
them, and do much damage. The elevated ends of 
bent track were called " snake-heads," and the railroad 
management stood in great terror of them. They 
were considered so dangerous that passengers were not 
allowed to travel on the cars at all. 

The road was used for freight business only. It was 
very serviceable in transporting river freight, for flat- 
boats, past the celebrated shoals on the Tennessee river. 
Decatur is above and Tuscumbia below the shoals. 

There was not even a coal oil lamp in all the coun- 
try. An ordinary match would have been a miracle 

to us. 

Mr. Harris was a country post-master in Wilson 
county, Tennessee. Some one sent a letter to his office 
addressed to a man who had moved out of the settle- 
ment. He kept it till the time prescribed by law for 
its delivery elapsed, and then forwarded it to the dead- 



248 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



letter office at Washington City. At the dead-letter 
office it was opened and found to contain a bill of 
money. It was returned to Mr. Harris, with a letter of 




FAST MAIL. 

instruction from the dead-letter office, apprising him of 
its valuable contents and directing him to make dili- 
gent enquiry for the man to whom it was addressed, 



AN OLD-FASHIONED POSTMASTER, 249 

and, if possible, deliver it to its riglitfiil owner. Mr. 
Harris kept it several months, failed to find the owner, 
and again forwarded it to the dead-letter office. I 
know Mr. Harris well. Hg still lives near Lebanon, 
Tennessee. I went to his honse, spent several hours in 
conversation with him, and verified every fact in this 
strange story to my entire satisfViction. Why he did 
not burn the letter and keep the money is a problem I 
shall not stop to discuss. The United States civil serv- 
ice of those days evidently differed widely from that of 
modern times in more than one respect. 

The best informed people of those days seriously argued 
that improved machinery would never pay. And 
it never would have paid if the people had not changed 
their manner of living. 

Our present intricate system of railroads, telephones, 
express companies, telegraph lines, mail service, stock 
companies, bank exchanges, insurance companies, 
money orders, newspapers and vast manufacturing in- 
dustries was not designed or foreseen by anybody. It 
has grown up in the last seventy years as if by chance. 
It is an evolution. It has organized itself without con- 
sultation, unity of purpose or harmony of design in its 
originators, so far as human minds have originated and 
developed it. For myself, I cannot doubt but that all 
the finite minds engaged upon this wonderful structure 
have but performed the part assigned them by the in- 
finite Intelligence who framed the system of worlds, 
and who guides the progress of the universe. 

It is hardly proper to speak of labor-saving machin- 
ery. It perhaps takes as much labor to run the world 
now, with all our machinery, as it took in the days of 
our forefathers. 

So fe.r as I can see, it takes as much labor to make a 



250 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

dress, for instance, on a sewing machine as it took to 
make one by hand fifty years ago. There are tucks, 
and gores, and rufiles, and hems, and flutes and flounces 
on a dress now that our grandmothers never dreamed 
of in all their dress-making philosophy. The introduc- 
tion of machinery has wrought a great revolution in the 
Avorld, but, so far as I can see, it has done far more to 
increase the expense of living than to save labor. In 
the way of a labor-saving institution, I know nothing 
superior to the dense ignorance and serene contentment 
of the lowest grade of barbarism. 

The simple customs of our fathers began gradually to 
pass away with the introduction of modern machinery. 
When the manufacture of cotton goods began to attract 
attention as an important industry, the production of 
the fleecy staple loomed up as a profitable branch of 
agriculture. This turned attention to the low bottoms 
and fertile valleys of the South, which hitherto had 
been considered almost worthless, and in a few years 
such lands commanded a higher price than any other 
in the country. They were 23eculiarly well adapted to 
the production of cotton. 

Up to this time African slave labor had not been 
very profitable in the United States, and there was no 
great demand for it. But when the production of cot- 
ton developed into an important and profitable branch 
of agriculture, and when the low, malarial regions of 
the South began to be opened up for cotton plantations, 
African slave labor seemed almost indispensable to the 
occupancy and cultivation of the richest part of the 
Southern States. It is interesting to note that the slave 
population and cotton production of the United States 
increased rapidly, and at something near the same rate, 
from the beginning of the present' century to 1860. In 



NEGROES AND COTTON. 



251 



1776 for instance, there were only about 300,000 ne- 
PToes in tlie United States. In 1790 there were 697,- 
897- in 1800, 893,041; in 1810, 1,191,364; in 1820, 
1 538 022 • in 1830, 2,009,043 ; in 1840, 2,487,455 ; m 




BOUND FOR THE LAND OF COTTON. 

1850, 3,204,313; in 1860, 3,953,760. 

In 1770 the entire cotton crop of the United States, 
exported, was three hags from :N'ew York, four hags 
from Maryland and Virginia and three barrels from Korth 



252 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

Carolina. A bag of cotton then did not mean a bale of 
modern size and weiglit. That was before the days of 
modern cotton presses, and cotton was packed in bags 
by hand. As late as 1791 the entire cotton crop of the 
United States amounted to only 2,000,000 pounds, or 
about 4,000 bales of modern size and weight. In 1830 
the crop was 976,845 bales; in 1850, 2,096,706; in 1860, 
4,669,770. 

In point of climate, negroes are perfectly at home in 
the low, malarial regions of the South, where cotton 
grows to greatest perfection, and where other people 
could scarcely live at all when the forests were first 
cleared away and the country opened for cultivation. 

When slave owners and capitalists from all parts of 
the United States began to rush down in the low bot- 
toms of West Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi and Al- 
abama, to open cotton ^plantations, I was a boy not 3'et 
out of my teens. The excitement was intense, and 
movers were continually passing through our neighbor- 
hood in Middle Tennessee from Virginia and the Caro- 
linas, bound for the land of cotton. Mau}^ of our 
neighbors were leaving every year, and, as might have 
been expected, I caught the fever too, and determined 
to try my fortune with the rest of them. So I tied up 
my scant supply of clothing in a little bundle, swung 
it over my shoulder on a stick, bid a tearful good-bye to 
the friends and scenes of my boyhood, tenderly kissed 
father, step-mother, sisters and brothers, and started on 
my weary tramp to Mississippi. 



CHAPTER XYII. 



THE PERIOD OF SLAVERY. 

Slavery, as an important factor in the development of 
the Sonth, was short-lived. It began properly when 
the prodnction of cotton first attracted attention as an 
important and profitable branch of agriculture, and 
lasted but a few decades. Thirty years compassed the 
principal part of its existence, and a much shorter peri- 
od than that covered all of its worst features.- It never 
amounted to much before 1830 in the main part of the 
cotton belt, and not till about 1840 did it develop into 
very gigantic proportions or manifest its ugliest features. 
During the decade from 1850 to 1860 it attained its 
greatest proportions and developed its worst abuses. 

When I tramped from Tennessee to Mississippi with 
a small bundle of clothes on my back, while yet a boy 
in my teens, I invaded the land of cotton with the ad- 
vance guard of slavery proper, and from that time till 
the emancipation proclamation was issued, I was famil- 
iar with every phase of life and of shu^ny in the very 
heart of the cotton belt. Thougli I was at one time tlie 
owner and proprietor of a large cotton plantation, com- 
pletely stocked and equipped with mules, negroes and 
the best agricultural implements of that age, I took but 
little interest in it and it soon passed into other hands. 
I was not a brilliant success as a cotton planter. The 
plantation came to me partly through the generosity of 

a personal friend and theological admirer, and from me 

(253) 



254 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

passed to shrewder financiers than I ever hope to be, on 
strictly hnsiness principles, nnencnnibered by any bonds 
of carnal affection or spiritual affinity, between me and 
my successors in proprietorship, save such as I owe to 
all of Adam's race. Howbeit, I bear them no ill will. 
"What once was mine became rightfully theirs without 
fraud or unfairness on their part, and with more of feel- 
ings of relief than of loss on my own part. The wreck 
of my fortune and loss of my property, as a cotton plant- 
er, sufficiently attest the mildness of my reign and len- 
iency of my administration as a slave owner. 

During many years of my life among cotton planters 
and slave owners in the South, I was a Christian in 
faith and a preacher of the gospel by profession. The 
intimate and confident relationship of a pastor to his 
flock gave me the best of oppportunities to know the 
true inwardness of the whole system of slavery. It was 
my duty to seek out the secret sources of sin and re- 
buke the outward forms of iniquity. As a preacher 
of the gospel I have not been without faults, but never 
have I been accused of a lack of diligence in acquaint- 
ing myself with the secret sins, or of a want of courage 
in rebukinor the open vices of the^^0eimle''Where I have 
labored. It seems pertin^nrc to say this ftiucn by way 
of showing my qualifications >o describe ythe 'uses and 
abuses of the system of slavery in the South. 

The treatnaent slaves received at the hands of their mas- 
ters differed widely in different cases. It was as varied as 
the treatment which horses or other dumb animals receive 
at the hands of their owners. In fact, different slaves of 
the same master received different treatment. Every- 
thing depended on the temper of the master and the 
disposition of the slave. ISTo description of the system 
of slavery as it existed on cotton plantations is per- 



DIVIDING FAMILIES. 255 

feet, therefore, that does not tell the full story of the 
life of every master and of every slave. I cannot at- 
tempt such a description in a volume of this size. The 
most I can hope to do is to briefly sketch the general 
outlines o± slavery, in all of its phases, as I saw it on 
the great cotton plantations of the Mississippi bottoms. 
I shall try to give the worst abuses as well as the best 
advantages the negroes received, during the days of 
slavery, and leave the imagination of the reader to fill 
out the nicer shadings of the picture. 

In mo vino: slaves down into the low bottoms and 
rich valleys of the cotton belt, from older settlements in 
distant countries, the able-bodied, middle-aged men 
and robust young women were often sent forward in 
charge ot an over-seer, a few years in advance of the 
older and feebler men and women, and the young chil- 
dren, to open farms and build homes. In making up a 
crew of hands to send forward into the big bottoms, hard 
masters often disregarded family ties and parental feel- 
ings among the slaves. When it was deemed best, as a 
business policy, to send husbands and fathers to the 
bottoms, miles away, and keep wives, mothers and 
children at the old plantation, families were broken up 
without a moment's hesitation. When such separations 
were but temporary, and the members of divided fami- 
lies of slaves remained the property of the same master, 
with every assurance of an early reunion, the case was 
not so bad. But the great demand for able-bodied 
slaves in the cotton belt opened up a regular traffic in 
negroes between the old and new countries. Many 
slave owners in older states, who had more negroes than 
they needed, preferred to sell some of the most trouble- 
some ones on their plantations rather than go to the 
trouble and expense of opening cotton farms in the 



256 SEVENTY YEAES IN DIXIE. 

bottoms, and many men went regularly into tlie business 
of buying negroes in the older states and selling tliem 
at a good profit in tbe new country. This led to many 
separations of families among slaves, which they all 
knew would be as lasting as life itself. Slave dealers 
often sold a young husband in Arkansas and his newly 
wedded bride in Mississippi or Alabama. In such cases 
the negroes could never hope to know anything of each 
other after they were separated. They could neither 
read nor write, and they were never allowed to travel 
beyond the bounds of the immediate vicinity of their 
respective masters' plantations. 

In justice to Mr. Caskey, I should, perhaps, explain 
that I am mixing my own observations rather freely 
with his recollections in describing the various phases 
of slavery in the South, as well as in everything else I have 
tried to describe in this book. I am a much younger man 
than he, but all my early life was spent near the cotton 
belt of Alabama. My father Avas intimately associated 
with cotton planters and slave owners in the days of my 
childhood, and his friends of those days, who often vis- 
ited our home and conversed freely in my presence, were 
familiar with every phase of plantation life and of the 
whole system of slavery. We had a cozy little home in 
the mountains, a few miles back from the broad valleys 
and rich bottoms where negroes and cotton principally 
flourished, but not too far away to be constantly associ- 
ated with every phase of life on cotton plantations. 

Possibly I over-rate the heart-troubles which slaves 
suffered in such family separations as I have tried to 
describe. I know negroes, with few exceptions, in 
those days, like some whit^ folks now-a-days, were 
coarse-natured and unsentimental creatures, but it is 
hard to forget early impressions. A few old slaves 



THE OLD '' FERGINNY'' HOME. 257 

whom I well knew and devotedly loved in the tender 
years of my childhood, had each a story to tell of loved 
ones left behind in the old "Ferginny" home. I dare 
say my childish interest in such stories often stimulated 
the imaginations of my dusky old friends, even to the 
stretching of their veracity, in dealing with the facts of 
history, but they told their tales of sorrow with a pathos 
and solemnity which deeply touched my baby heart and 
often opened the fountain of my childish tears. And 
when, with heavy heart and tear-bathed cheeks, I 
would steal away from their humble cabins in the lone- 
ly watches of the niglit, after listening for hours to their 
tales of sorrow, strains of pathetic song from a full cho- 
rus of negroes would often come sobbing after me like 
the wail of lost souls from a deserted grave yard. Such 
things greatly troubled my baby heart, and I cannot 
forget those early impressions even now^, but since, in 
maturer years, I have learned more about negro char- 
acter, and white folks' character too, I suspect that 
such family separations did not really trouble them as 
much as I then supposed. The old-fashioned plantation 
negroes did not take much trouble to themselves about 
anything. They were, by nature, rolicking, cheerful, 
fun -loving, care-defying and contented creatures. They 
would sing a doleful song or tell a sad story with a 
solemnity of countenance and pathos of voice never ex- 
celled even on the stage, and the next moment they 
would "pick de banjo," dance a jig or enjoy a joke 
with all the hilarity and abandon of a soul without a 
care. They never had the blues or gave way to despon- 
dency. All the world Avas, indeed, a stage, to them, 
and life was but a comic farce. 

Many slave owners would not make themselves par- 
ties to the separation of negro families by buying any 
17 



258 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



member of a divided family. In many cases, masters of 
noble impulses and a large bank account, gathered up 
the fragments of broken famiUes by purchases, from 
different parties, and gave the sorrowing hearts a glad 




SOULS WITHOUT A CARE. 



reunion and a happy home on their great plantations. 

The domestic and marital feelings were not very 

strong in the class of negroes ordinarily handled by 



NEGRO PATRIOTISM. 259 

slave dealers. As a rule, it was only the grossest, 
meanest class of slaves that masters in older states 
would sell to dealers, to be carried away and sold on the 
great plantations in the bottoms. Negroes of that class 
were not noted for their refinement of feelings, and 
hence they probably suffered less real heart-sorrow on 
account of such family separations than better speci- 
mens of their race would have felt. With them, fami- 
lies were not bound together, at best, by any very strong 
feelings of marital affection, parental love, filial devo- 
tion or fraternal relationship. 

There were cases, however, in wdiichthebestof negroes 
suffered such family separations. They were all subject 
to the fortunes and misfortunes of their owners. In case 
of financial failure, the negroes on a plantation were sold 
at public auction to satisfy the claims of creditors, along 
with land, mules, agricultural implements and other 
property. But even in these extreme cases, the more 
humane buyers and sellers looked somewhat to the feel- 
ings of slaves by disposing of them in families. 

It was in such a financial crash as this, that the good 
old servants I so devotedly loved in the days of my 
childhood were parted from their loved ones at the old 
" Ferginny " home. The old home and parts of their 
families were bought by one man while they themselves 
became the property of another. 

And I now suspect that much of their trouble was a 
sort of patriotic sorrow for the downfall of the old 
plantation, quite as much as parental grief at their sep- 
aration from their children. 

It is a strange fact, that negroes, in the days of slav- 
ery, felt something of the same pride in their master's 
plantation that patriots feel in the land of their love. 
It was a great bereavement to those old-time negroes to 



260 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

be separated from family companions whom they loved, 
of course. It is also a great sorrow for a wife, a moth- 
er, a sister or a father, to see a tenderly-loved and man- 
ly soul, pass forever from earthly companionship in the 
midst of battle in defense of his country. But the ruin 
of the country, after all, is a deeper sorrow in many 
such cases, than the loss of the loved one. 

This feeling of patriotism toward the old plantation, with 
slaves, was one of the strangest things in negro charac- 
ter. They seemed to forget all the toils and sufferings 
of their slavery, in their admiration of the magnificence 
of the plantation built up by their labors and their 
bondage. - 

Poor men who owned small farms and few slaves, 
treated their negroes much better, as a general rule, 
than slaves were treated by masters and over-seers on 
large plantations. In fact, a man who was able to own 
but eight or ten negroes and a small farm, treated the 
few slaves he did possess about as well as he treated his 
own boys. Master, master's sons and slaves, in such 
cases, all Avorked together in the same field, ate about the 
same kind of provisions and dressed pretty much in the 
same kind of every-day clothing. They took holidays 
together, and, all in all, enjoyed life, on a small scale, as 
well as poor folks in general. Negroes on large cotton 
plantations had almost an i nfinitely harder time. And yet, 
strange as it may seem, negroes in general looked with 
perfect contempt upon what they called " dese yere pore 
folks niggers." To belong to the richest man, and to 
labor on the biggest plantation in all the country was a 
distinction which all negroes coveted, and those who 
enjoyed such high honor found ample compensation for 
all the abuses they suffered, at the hands of hard over- 
seers, in the wealth and magnificence of their master's 



THE GRANDEUR OF INSTITUTIONS. 261. 

plantation. Even now, it is difficult to find an old ne- 
gro who will admit that he belonged to a poor man be- 
fore the war. A negro who belonged to twenty difter- 
ent men before the war, nineteen of whom were poor 
but indulgent masters, while the other was wealthy but 
noted for the severity of his treatment of slaves, will 
invariably parade the fact that he belonged to the rich 
man and worked on the big plantation, but say nothing 
about the lenient treatment he received from his poor 
but indulgent masters. 

This is a strange thing in negro character, but a la- 
tent vein of the same folly runs through the whole hu- 
man race. It is this glorying in institutional splendor 
and magnificence regardless of personal comfort and 
convenience that causes religious people to want to be- 
long to the biggest church and to worship in the finest 
house in the city. To maintain such magnificence in the 
ecclesiastic institution, people will submit to many per- 
sonal and spiritual inconveniences and abuses. It is 
universally acknowledged that, as a rule, there is less 
brotherly love, spiritual fervor, personal consecration 
and social enjoyment in a big church and a magnificent 
house, than in an humbler, smaller institution. Besides, 
it costs money, which people of ordinary circumstances 
can ill aftbrd, injustice to themselves and their families, to 
maintain such magnificence. "Why should religious 
people burden themselves financially, despise the poor, 
contemn unostentatious worship, glory in a big church, 
rejoice in a costly house, run after ritualistic pomp and 
make a show of expensive paraphernalia in religion in 
general, rather than enjoy richer spiritual blessings in 
heavenly places in Christ Jesus, with less show and 
far lighter personal burdens? For the same reason 
that the poor ignorant negroes, before the war, would 



262 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

ratlier sufler ten fold more personal liarclsliips, as slaves, 
and belong to a ricli man on a Vig plantation, than to 
live witli an humble master on a small farm. 

The same innate disposition to court personal hard- 
ships for the worthless privilege of belonging to a mag- 
nificent institution, crops out in every political govern- 
ment on earth. And the admiration for the glory of 
the institution at the expense of the personal conven- 
ience and comfort of the people, has always been in 
proportion to the arrogance of the classes and 
the ignorance of the masses. The most bur- 
densome forms of political government, and the 
most magnificent and expensive systems of church poli- 
ty, have always been in ages and among people of the 
densest ignorance. All tendencies to glory in the mag- 
nificence of institutions to the neglect of the welfare of 
the people, whether in political or religious afiairs, are 
sure signs of the decline of real intelligence in the -peo- 
ple. The pomp and splendor of all forms of govern- 
ment, and the tame submission of the people to excess- 
ive personal burdens for the glory of their leaders and 
rulers, and for the establishment and support of gild- 
ed magnificence in public institutions to the oppres- 
sion of the people, whether such things are in 
politics or religion, are but repetitions of the folly 
of the poor ignorant negroes who preferred the heaviest 
, burdens of bondage to the mildest forms of slavery, for 
the empty honor of belonging to the richest man on the 
most magnificent plantation in the country. 

Before we further consider the various forms and 
severity of the punishment slaves received, it should be 
remembered that the punishment of crime among them 
before the war was delegated by the State to their 
masters. It* is not proper, therefore, to censure slave 



PUNISHMENT OF CRIME. 263 

owners for the infliction of punisliment upon criminals 
which is considered commendable in a government. 
Over-seers whipped negroes, before the war, it is true, 
and so did sherifis whip white men in many States. 

The slave population of the South numbered millions. 
Among the negroes of the South were many criminals, 
whose punishment passed from masters to courts by 
virtue of the emancipation proclamation. This was 
right. But it is not right to make no allowance for 
this punishment of crime in making out the indictment 
of wanton cruelty against slave owners, in the treat- 
ment of negroes. 

Take the one item of breaking up families, for in- 
stance. I doubt whether a greater number of families 
were broken up among the negroes, by slave owners 
before the war, than are now broken up by courts in 
the punishment of crime. And with the few ex- 
ceptions already mentioned, negro families were broken 
up before the war by way of punishing criminals, just 
as they are broken up now, by the courts, in sending 
criminals to work -houses, jails and penitentiaries. 
Slave owners sold negroes, mainly, because of the same 
disposition which now leads them into crime and to the 
penitentiary. There were exceptions to this general 
rule, of course, but it was a general rule none the less 
on that account. If all the punishment of crime, which 
is now inflicted by the courts, but which was then left 
to slave owners, be deducted from the count against 
slave owners in the matter of cruel treatment of ne- 
groes, the case against them will be greatly modified. 
This is not offered as a justification of slavery, but as a 
matter of simple justice to slave owners. 

When a negro manifested the disposition of a crijiii- 
nal and repeatedly committed grave offences against 



264 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

the government he was under before the war, the mas- 
ter punished him for such lawlessness and, in extreme 
cases, separated him from his familj and sold him. In 
such cases since the war, the courts have done the 
same, to vindicate the government and protect society. 
There were many slaves who were never punished 
before the war, just as there are many law-abiding negroes 
who have never been molested, by the courts since the 
war. 



CHAPTER XYIII. 



AN OLD-FASHIONED BLACKSMITH. 

Before I tramped from Tennessee to Mississippi, 
with my wardrobe on my back and all my earthly pos- 
sessions on my person, I served an apprenticeship at 
the blacksmith trade. I was what the world would 
now consider a poor vagabond, but I was a white man 
and a good blacksmith, which was then considered a 
good inheritance. I had a good trade, a clear con- 
science, indomitable energy and a healthy constitution. 
Many boys of my age had less, few had more. I was in 
^'the land of the free and the home of the brave," and 
the country was undeveloped and unoccupied around 
me. I did not feel at any great disadvantage in the 
race of life with landlords and slave owners. ITegro 
property and cotton plantations were not rated high in 
estimating wealth in those days. It was yet an experi- 
ment as to whether such things could be made profitable 
at all. As to landed estates, they were as free as water and 
as boundless as the country around me. I had no land 
because I did not consider it worth claiming, and I 
coveted no slaves because I was not sure I could make 
them wo rtli their f o o d an d rai ment . Plantatio n ari sto era - 
cy and wealth in this country were things no man had 
dreamed of up to that time. Slave owners were not 
yet able to live without work, and I considered it an even 
chance whether masters and slaves would not all starve 
to death in the bottoms before farms could be opened 

and homes built. \ 

265 



266 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



The trade of a blacksmith was a fortune in those days. 
Plows, axes, hoes, horse-shoes, knives — in fact everything 




MY TRADE WAS A FORTUNE. 

in the hardware line had to be made by hand in the black- 



MOVING TO MISSISSIPPI. 267 

smitli shop. There was not a hardware store in the 
whole country, and nothing in the way of manufactured 
hardware could be bought in the market. 

When I reached Mississippi I opened a shop and had 
all the work I could do at my own prices. I worked 
almost day and night and charged liberally for my la- 
bor. I often worked till late into the night, and al- 
ways began my days' labor before daylight in the morn- 
ing. My shop was continually crowded and my cus- 
tomers were easy to please and prompt to pay. I ac- 
cumulated wealth rapidly, and soon ranked with the 
rich people of the community. 

I did not tramp my way to Mississippi from choice, 
but of necessity. There was no other way to get there, 
so far as I could see. I might have gone through on 
horseback or in a wagon, but, unfortunately, I had neither 
wagon nor horse. As well as I now remember I did not 
have even a night-mare on the whole trip ! 

There were no public conveyances of any kind in 
the country at that early day, and scarcely any roads. 
With great difficulty, slave owners carried their ne- 
groes, teams, provisions and tools through the country 
on foot with the help of a few wagons. ]N"egroes usual- 
ly walked, and each one carried a load, proportioned to 
his strength, of such things as would be most needed in 
the new country. Provisions and tools were carried in 
wagons, and in many places the negroes had to cut 
roads through the forest for the supply wagons. It 
was like an invading army moving into a hostile coun- 
try, to subjugate it. In many cases, squads of negroes 
were driven from, the Carolinas and Virginia, to the 
bottoms and valleys of Mississippi, Arkansas, Alabama 
and Went Tennessee, hundreds of miles, on foot and 
loaded with packages of clothing, etc. 



268 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



Large cotton plantations were managed by salaried 
over-seers. After slave OAvners got their business well 
established, they gave themselves largely to aristocratic 
society, and left their business almost entirely to their 
over-seers. The wages of an over-seer depended mainly 




BOUND FOR THE BOTTOMS. 



upon the net profits of his employer's business under 
his management. The man who could make the most 
cotton, at the least expense, with the fewest mules and 
negroes, commanded the .best situation and the highest 



HOW NEGROES WE BE FED. 269 

salary in the country, as an over-seer. This was a 
constant temptation to over-seers to impose excessive 
labor upon the slaves. 

It has been supposed that the anxiety of the over- 
seer to save expenses often caused him to fail to provide 
for the negroes sufficient food and raiment. This I 
gravely doubt. Such cases never came under my obser- 
vation. Indeed, I think the negroes of the Mississippi 
bottoms, as a general rule, had better food, raiment, 
lodging and medical attention before the war than they 
have had since. This is my observation, and it is also 
backed by a sound business policy. To raise no ques- 
tion as to the feelings and impulses of our common hu- 
manity, in slave owners and over-seers, business inter- 
ests demanded that the negroes be supplied with whole- 
some food, comfortable clothing, good lodging, medical 
attention and sanitary advantages. These things 
were necessary to keep the negroes in condition to do 
the most work. The sickness of a negro meant 
the loss of his labor for the time, the troub- 
le of nursing him and the expense of a doc- 
tor's bill. The death of a negro was a clear finan- 
cial loss, equal to about ten good mules. Of course the 
better class of slave owners and over-seers would 
provide everything necessary to the best possible 
physical condition and general health of the negroes 
from higher motives than mere business interests, but 
the very meanest of them could easily be moved by a 
sound business policy, as apparent as this, to look to 
the health and comfort of their slaves. 

There were doubtless times, in the early settlement 
of the country, when negroes suffered for both food 
and raiment simply because their masters did not have, 
and could not get, such things for them. There were 



270 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

times, in fact, when the master himself, as well as every 
member of his own family, suitered similar want from 
the same cause. 

I have also known negroes to suffer slight inconven- 
iences for want of food., a few days at a time, on account 
of their own wastefulness and improvidence. The over- 
seer issued rations to the negroes once a week. The 
poor ignorant creatures seemed determined not to learn 
that a week's rations must last a week. They would 
waste their provisions the first part of the week, and 
then plead for more before distribution day. To teach 
them the importance of economy, they were sometimes 
allowed to run on short rations till general distribution 
day, when they, thus wasted their allowance. But it 
was a lesson the poor creatures could never learn. 
They are, as a race, as improvident to-day as they were 
before the war. It is always a feast or a fast with 
them. They will give their last bite of meat or morsel 
of bread, when they are not hungry, to a hungry dog, 
tie an oyster cup to his tail when he has eaten it and 
fairly split their sides with laughter to see the poor, 
frightened brute run away. If they have a good square 
meal for supper, they will feast like lords and sleep as 
soundly as roaches without an idea or a care as to how 
they are to get their breakfast. These characteristics, 
of course, do not apply to the more intelligent speci- 
mens of the race. 

The business of an over-seer was not calculated, par- 
ticularly, to develop the finer feelings of humanity in 
him, and there were no business interests to restrain 
his haughty, over-bearing and abusive spirit in dealing 
with negroes. Human nature glories in authority. An 
abusive word, a vigorous kick, a lash with the whip or 
a lick with a club would very appropriately express the 



A PLEA FOR KINDNESS. 271 

evil nature of a mean over- seer witliout at all damaging 
tlie working capacity or commercial value of the ne- 
groes. In these things, therefore, the poor slaves often 
suffered unnecessary and shamaful abuses at the hands 
of little-souled over-seers. 

Fegroes are by nature peculiarly susceptible to kind- 
ness and flattery — fully as much so as white folks. Un- 
der the hardest over-seers, they received but little of 
either on the big cotton plantations. If they did their 
work well, it was accepted as the full measure of their 
duty, and they were dismissed without a word of praise 
or even an expression of satisfaction. The most they 
could ever expect, was to escape censure and save them- 
selves from the lash. In my judgment, such treatment 
was one of the worst abuses they received. A gloomy 
life they must have had of it. Never a word of tender- 
ness, of praise or of encouragement did they get under 
the meanest over-seers. Just here was a fine field for 
the introduction of the true spirit of Christianity, and I 
am glad to say that many masters and over-seers, under 
the benign and refining influence of the true spirit of 
the Christian religion, brought gladness and good cheer to 
many gloomy lives of poor, neglected slaves, by kindly 
words of merited praise. But the greed for gain too 
often choked the good seed of Christianity and pre- 
vented any such expression of kindly appreciation. On 
this point there are grievous sins upon the records of 
the courts above that must yet be accounted for by 
those who committed them. And sins of this class are 
by no means confined to slave owners and over-seers. 
There be those now living who are daily committing 
such sins against those with whom they associate. 

On a large cotton plantation, negroes were whipped 
more or less every day — in many cases unjustly perhaps, 



272 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

and in not a few instances too severely no donbt. Still, 
the whipjDing was by no means general. Many negroes 
were never whipped at all. There were hnndreds of 
masters and over-seers who never whipped a negro 
withont a cause, and thousands of negroes who gave no 
cause for such punishment. Still, among the hundreds 
of slaves on a large plantation there were always a 
goodly number who called down upon themselves the 
lash of the most indulgent masters, by their own evil 
deeds, every day ; and among the thousands of over 
seers in the South there were always some who occa- 
sionally would rashly whip the best of negroes without 
much cause. So, between the mean negroes and the bad 
over-seers, the sound of the lash and the voice of lamen- 
tations were heard in the land every day. 

Ordinarily, the whipping was administered informally 
by the over-seer at the time the offense which called for 
it was committd. In such cases it was only a few lash- 
es with a whip, a kick or a few licks with a sprout. 
But in the more aggravated cases of peculiarly obstinate, 
vicious, lazy and troublesome negroes in general, the 
punishment was administered with more formality and 
severity. Among the crimes for which the meanest 
class of negroes were whipped — apart from the general 
charge of laziness — may be mentioned such things as 
the abuse of a wife by a husband, abuse of children by 
parents, stealing, quarreling and fighting, disturbing re- 
ligious exercises among the negroes, abusing mules, 
horses and other dumb brutes, etc., etc. 

Over-seers sometimes organized a sort of court among 
the negroes to try such offenders, determine the guilt 
or innocence of the accused, fix the penalty and admin- 
ister the punishment themselves. Mr. Garner, of Ala- 
bama, held regular courts of this kind on his plantation 



NEGRO COURTS. 



273 



for years. Of course, all of the proceedings, in sueli 
oases, were under the jurisdiction and general 'supervis 




ADMINISTERED THE PUNISHMENT THEMSELVES. 

ion Of the master himself. Audit is a strange fact, that 



274 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

he nearly always had to interfere in behalf of the crim- 
inal and modify the severity of the punishment. Such 
proceedings, however, were very rare. With few ex- 
ceptions, the over-seer took matters in his own hands, 
determined the guilt or innocence of the accused, fixed 
the penalty and administered the punishment himself 
w^ithout any unnecessary formality about it. 

Africans had no very exalted ideas of honesty, moral- 
ity or virtue when they came into bondage in the 
United States, and slavery did but little to improve 
them, as a race, in these respects. On some plantations 
virtue and the marriage relationship were scarcely more 
regarded among negroes than among horses and cattle. 
In such things the slaves themselves desired the widest 
liberty, and many masters gave them all the privileges 
consistent with business policy. There were many 
slave owners who encouraged chastity and fidelity in 
the marriage relationship, among their negroes, even in 
cases in which such a course seriously interfered with 
business interests and involved considerable financial 
sacrifice. All masters, however, were not of this kind. 
It must be confessed that on some plantations the re- 
strictions of the master tended rather to increase licen- 
tiousness than to encourage virtue among the slaves. 
In very extreme cases, in fact, slave-raising seems to 
have been considered little more than a branch of stock- 
farming. On the plantations of the very worst masters, 
negroes had a form of marriage, but courtship and mat- 
rimony among them, in such cases, were subjected to the 
master's business interests. It is sufiicient to say the 
negro men of the best disposition and the strongest 
physical constitutions had a plurality of wives, and 
that there were no old maids among the women, on the 
plantations of such masters. It is hardly proper to say 



LICENTIOUSNESS AMONG SLAVES 275 

the negroes, in such cases, were guilty of either polygamy 
or adultery. Their conduct was extremely unchaste, 
immoral and demoralizing, hut I know not a w^ord in 
any language to describe it. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



RUNAWAY NEGROES. 



Obstinate, determined and rebellions negroes of- 
ten ran away from their masters or over-seers and hid 
themselves in the woods. They lived npon sncli food 
as they could gather in fields and forests or pilfer at 
night. In many instances they were secretly fed by 
other negroes. Sometimes they fled to the hill country 
adjacent to the great cotton plantations in the valleys 
and bottoms, and lived by stealing from the poor moun- 
taineers at night. Occasionally they came upon women 
and children boldly in open day in the small homes in 
the mountains and demanded food. In some cases 
they killed domestic and wild animals, and cooked and 
ate them in their liaunts in the woods. It was an easy 
matter for them to steal domestic fowls from barnyards, 
at night, and occasionally they would even pillage 
smoke-houses or country stores. 

Over-seers and masters resorted to various schemes to 
catch runaway negroes. Certain men soon established 
reputations as experts in such business, and over-seers 
and masters employed them, whenever a negro ran 
away, to catch the fugitive. P>y devoting themselves 
mainly to such business, and by studying closely the 
geography and topography of the country as well as the 
peculiarities of negro character, they came to be re- 
markably proficient in their occupation. 

The question of runaway negroes soon developed 

(276) 



now RUNAWAY NEGROES LIVED. 



277 



into a serious problem with the white people of the 
country. It indicated a spirit of insubordination which 
caused grave apprehensions of a general insurrection 
amono; the slaves. The fear was that if negroes were 




RUNAWAY NEGRO STEALING CHICKENS. 

allowed to remain too long in the woods they would 
form bands of marauders and incite the slaves of 
the whole country to a general insurrection. To 
defy the authority of an over-seer or openly rebel 



278 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

against the government of the master was to declare 
insolent hostility against all restraint.* Negroes were 
under no law but the master, and amenable to no au- 
thority but the over-seer. They could, therefore, com- 
mit no graver offense than to run away. It was treason 
and open rebellion against the only government that 
had any authority at all over them. Such an offense, 
therefore, threatened the stability of all government, 
tlie security of all property and the safety of the very 
lives of the citizens themselves. A few runaway ne- 
groes might form a mob ; a mob could quickly grow 
into an insurrection ; an insurrection could hardly fail 
to produce a general revolution ; and a general revolu- 
tion would quickly sweep over the whole country. The 
question, therefore, involved the weightiest interests of 
both races. 

Professional hunters of runaway negroes were noth- 
ing more than modern detectives, i^aturally enough, 
they employed every means known to that age, which 
seemed calculated to help them in their business. In 
course of time they introduced slow-trailing blood- 
hounds, to run the fugitive negroes down. 

When a pack of well-trained hounds once found the 
trail of the negro that was wanted, it was utterly impos- 
sible to confuse them or throw them off the track. The 
fugitive negro would often run through squads of other 
negroes at work by themselves, with no over-seer pres- 
ent, in the hope of losing the dogs. Sometimes he 
would exchange shoes with a friendly negro in the hope 
of throwing the dogs off the track. But all to no avail. 
The hounds Avould slowly and tediously, but patiently 
and unerringly work out the trail and follow up the 
track of the rio:lit nes-ro. Of course it would not do 
for the fugitive negro to run upon other negroes in the 



BLOOD HOUNDS AFTER NEGROES. 



279 



presence of an over-seer, to escape the lionnds, unless 
he wanted to give himself up, for all over-seers were 
sure to capture runaway negroes at every opportunity. 
The negro hunter mounted his horse and followed his 
dogs till the negro was run down and captured. Such 




HUNTING A RUNAWAY NEGRO. 



negro hunters charged liberal fees for their services, and 
one of them would often be called many miles to run 
down a negro. When a runaway negro was caught, he 
was always punished severely. In fact there was no 



280 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

graver crime or severer punishment in the whole system 
of shxvery. 

There were but few white people in the bottoms com- 
pared with the immense negro population of the big 
cotton plantations. The over-seers, in the latter years 
of slavery, were always apprehensive of an insurrection 
among the negroes, and every precaution was adopted 
to prevent such a calamity. It is a low estimate to say 
that the negroes out-numbered the white people ten to 
one in vast sections of country. There were probably 
places, including several plantations and wide scopes of 
country, where negroes were fifty times more numerous 
than white people. It is not strange, under such cir- 
cumstances, that the white people feared a serious up- 
rising and general rebellion among the slaves. The 
wonder is that nothing of the kind ever occurred. 

To prevent a plot or conspiracy among the slaves, 
every negro was kept in his place and no one was al- 
lowed to go beyond the bounds of his master's planta- 
tion without a written pass. Some negroes had a habit 
of secretly visiting the negroes of other plantations by 
night, and to break this up the over-seers of every sec- 
tion organized themselves and patrolled the country. 
They took it by turns, and while some of them slept 
others rode over the country every night and kept a 
sharp lookout for negroes off their master's plantations 
without passes. Woe to the guilty negro who fell into 
the hands of the patrols. 

The patrols Avould ride up within a few hundred 
yards of the cluster of cabins, called a negro quarter, 
dismount, leave one man to hold horses, and noiselessly 
slip from cabin to cabin, to see that everything was 
quiet and orderly. If they saw a light through a chink 
in a cabin door, or heard any conversation or other 



A SHREWD NEGRO. 281 

noise about the premises, tliey cautiously investigated it. 

The custom of patrolling the country gave rise to a 
song which is still very popular among the colored peo- 
ple in some parts of the South, the first line of which is, 
" Kan nigger run, the patrol will catch you." 

When a negro, who knew himself to he out of his 
proper place, found that the patrols w^ere near, he took 
to his heels and tried to save himself by main strength 
and hard running. Many amusing incidents are told 
by the old negroes and patrols of the South, of hard 
races across fields, over fences, through briar patches 
and into creeks, sloughs and swamps — the negro trying 
to escape a severe whipping and the patrols determined 
to teach him the folly and the danger of his w\ay. 

Speaking of negroes, passes, etc., an old over-seer 
told me an amusing thing, illustrative of the shrewdness 
of some negroes before the war. 

A widow who owned a large cotton plantation and 
lived in a fine, old-fashioned, Southern, country mansion, 
employed an over-seer to superintend her business. The 
cluster of cabins, called the negro quarters, was about 
half a mile from the lady's residence. She kept a few 
domestic servants at her home, and the over-seer 
lived near the ^'quarters" and had charge of all her 
other negroes. Among the servants she kept about her 
own residence were two boys — one of them a shrewd 
mulatto who drove her carriage, and the other a thick- 
headed black boy who chopped wood, cultivated her 
garden and kept her front yard and lawn in good order. 

When any of her domestic servants needed to be 
whipped, she merely wrote a note to the over-seer and 
sent it by the one that had been condemned to the lash, 
saying: '' Please whip the bearer and oblige," etc. 

The mulatto carriage driver carried one note and took 



285 



WHIPPED THE WBONG NEGRO. 



his whipping, hut the second time he was requested to 
carry a note to the over-seer, he suspected the meaning 
of it, perhaps because he knew he needed a whipping, 
and conckided to send a substitute. So he hunted up 
the thick-headed wood-chopper and said to him : 

"See yere, boy! Ole Missus say how you got ter 
fotch dis yere note to de boss ! " 

The boy was glad to get off from his work for a trip 
to the "quarters," supposing the note was merely a 




FOTCH DIS YERE NOTE. 



matter of some general instruction which " ole Missus " 
wanted to give to " de boss " about business matters. 
But when " de boss " ordered him to prepare for the 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 283 

whipping, the real ineaning of it ali began to penetrate 
his thick head. He protested that he had done nothing 
to be whipped for, and declared it was '^ datyaller nigger 
what ort to be lashed," but the over-seer was accus- 
tomed to such protestations of innocence, and hence 
paid no attention to what he said, but whipped him 
and sent him back. 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE RACE PROBLEM. 

The iield liaiicls on large cotton plantations were, as a 
rule, tlie meanest specimens of the race. Slave owners 
of other countries sold their worst negroes to slave deal- 
ers, to be resold in the cotton belt. The treatment 
they received in the bottoms while in slavery, and 
their almost complete isohition from white people, still 
further brutalized them. Hence the negro population 
in rural districts on those large cotton plantations still 
differs widely from the negro population of all other 
sections of the country. This fact must be considered 
by all who would understand what is now called the 
race problem in the South. 

He who forms his opinions of the negro race from the 
best specimens found in towns and cities, and in the coun- 
try outside of the cotton district, knows but little about 
the race question. With such select specimens of intelli- 
gent negroes there is no race problem. Xegroes of that 
class are moral, industrious, cleanly, virtuous and intel- 
ligent. Between them and the white people there is 
the best of feeling and the most amicable relationship, 
except when bad blood is stirred up for partisan pur- 
j)oses and selfish ends by ambitious politicians. The 
real race problem is not a question of party politics, le- 
gal rights or social privileges. The courts are open to 
negroes, and able lawyers are at easy command to vin- 
dicate their riofhts in any part of the countrv. It is 

(284) 



CRIME AND IGNORANCE. 



285 



folly to try to enforce anything like social equality hy law 
or tlarongli politics, with such glaring antagonism be- 
tAveen the races, touching everything essential to the 
social c o m p a c t. 
^or can the utter 
incapacity of the 
negro race, in its 
present state, to 
manage the afiairs 
of government, be 
remedied by politi- 
cal platforms or 
legislation. I have 
tried to describe 
the very worst 
features of the sys- 
tem of slavery. 
The abuses of the 
system of slavery 
and the hereditary 
ignorance, vice and 
licentiousness of 
the negro race, 
consti tut e th e 
source of a slug- 
gish, corrupt, stag- 
n ant, loathsome 
natio n a 1 stream, 
and the real race 
problem is the pu- 
rification of that 
stream. To clearly " an uncliTan fountain." 

understand the problem, one must not stop at a simple 
introduction to the educated, refined, virtuous and well- 




286 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

dressed negro pastor, lawyer, teaclier or society Ijelle of 
the city. lie should see the thriftless, filthy, shameless, 
unwashed, poorly-fed, half-clad personification of sin, 
ignorance, poverty and contentment that we call the 
negro population of the cotton district. AYh ether there 
is anything in party politics, or any other kind of poli- 
tics, sufficiently potent to cleanse this stream of human 
depravity, may well be doubted. The moral record of 
the apostles of politics who so confidently urge their 
party principles as the only remedy for this polluted 
race, is by no means reassuring. The stream of politics 
has never been rated high for moral purity even by pol- 
iticians themselves, and to tunnel it into the dead sea of 
negro vice would hardly do more than produce a stag- 
nant slough of human depravity and political corrup- 
tion. The negro should be protected in all his rights as 
an American citizen, of course, but such protection 
does not solve the race problem. The only solution of 
the race question that w^ill ever be worth anything to 
the negro, must provide for the purification and en- 
lightenment of the colored race. As a theory, it must 
be based upon the real condition and wants of the ne- 
gro race, and in its application it must have adequate 
means and sufficient time. 

Much of the treatment slaves received was far 
more humane than that which I have described. There 
is much of the negro race now that is by no means so 
far sunken in ignorance, poverty and immorality as 
the stratum of s'ociety I have described. Still, all I have 
written is true. I am not an apologist for the inhuman 
treatment slaves received before the war, nor do I be- 
lieve the ignorance, poverty and immorality of the race 
should be perpetuated. The inhumanity of slavery 
cannot be harmonized with the spirit and genius of 



POVERTY AXD CRIME. 



287 



Christianity, nor is tlie present condition of the race 

consistent with the misssion of the Christian rehgion. 

Somehow I have always felt in a nieasnre responsihle 




THE RACE PROBLEM. 



for the wrongs the poor negroes suffered under the system 
of slavery, and yet I never added the weight of a needless- 
ly unkind word, thought or deed to the burdens of a 
slave. I deeply sympathize with them now, and earn- 



288 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

estly desire to bear an liuuil^le part in elevating, purify- 
ing and reiining the race. I never look upon a crowd 
of ragged, ignorant, homeless, careless and rolicking 
ne2:ro vagabonds, that I do not pity them in my heart 
and fervently pray that a loving Father will guide me 
and help them in the great work of Christianizing the 
whole race. I never hear them chanting their plaintive 
music beneath star-gemmed and moon-lit Southern 
skies in the lonely watches of the night, that I do not 
long for wisdom to help them improve their condition. 
1 do not believe that the South alone is responsible for 
all the evils of slavery, or that the people of the South 
should be pushed aside by holier-than-thou apostles of 
self- righteousness from other sections of the country, as 
unw^orthy to bear any part in the solution of the race 
problem. The Southern people did not bring the ne- 
groes into bondage. They bought them mainly from 
Xew England slave ships. It is not for those who sold 
Joseph into bondage for a few pieces of silver, to rebuke 
those who paid the stipulated price of his liberty. I say 
this in no sectional spirit. The South is not free from 
guilt, neither is the North without sin. Slavery was a 
national sin and the race problem is the burden of the 
whole people of the United States. AYe are all breth- 
ren in sin, and should be fellow-servants in works meet 
for repentance. The w^ay of our salvation does not lie 
through angry recriminations and sectional bitterness. 
He who can see nothing in the race problem but vantage 
ground for his political party is neither a statesman nor 
a philanthropist. Christian people in all parts of the 
country should be brethren, not only in their efforts to 
solve the race problem, but in every other good work. 
In no case should they be over-confident of their own 
wisdom in anything. There is a governing Intelligence 



FILTH AND IGNORANCE. ggQ 

in this universe wlio -moves in a mysterious way his 
wonders to perform." Human plans often fail but 
clivine^ Providence always over-rules ih^ wisdom, folly 
and wickedness of man to the solution of all the prob- 
lems of the world's progress. 

I have not a doubt but that God through slavery 




HARD ON THE NEGROES. 

worked out the solution of some great problem in the 
waj^ of the workt's advancement. If there were great 
suftering to man in the solution of ih^ problem, it was 
only because the problem itself was the creation of 
man's wickedness. Probably the African race had, bv 
neglect or disobedience of the laws of man's bein-. 



290 



SEVENTY YEAES IX DIXIE. 



reaclxed a condition from which the easiest if not the 
only way of esca^De was through the system of slavery. 
Slavery was hard on the negro and a disgrace to the 
nation, but it solved the problem of converting forests 
into farms in a large district of the United States. It 
is difiicult to see how that problem could have been 
solved in any oth- 
er way. It is 
questionable 
whether it could 
have been done 
at all by white 
labor. Before 
those extensive 
bottoms were 
cleared, drained 
and dried, the 
country was too 
full of malaria to 
be habitable for 
white people. It 
was adapted to 
the constitution 
of the negro. 
And yet negroes 
never would have 
opened the coun- napoleon crossing the alps. 

try for cultivation without the coercion of slav- 
ery. The negroes were worked very ^ hard in clearing 
the country, but the work could hardly have beeu done 
more leisurely. The limited resources and the rapidly 
increasing population of the country demanded that the 
work should be done as speedily as possible. The peo- 
ple had not time to besiege the forests. The jungles iu 




DIVINE PROVIDEXCE. 291 

those fertile bottoms had to he carried hy storm. It was 
a sort of forced march on scant rations across a barren 
desert. It was a clear case of Napoleon crossing the 
Alps. It involved suffering heart-sickening to contem- 
plate, but it was a military necessity. It cannot be har- 
monized with the spirit and genius of Christianity, but, 
like war, it may have been one of those necessary ca- 
lamities through which God often leads rebellious peo- 
ple to the solution of great problems. 

The hardships of slavery were scarcely greater than 
the sufferings of the Grand Army of the Eepublic. 
Could a soldier in the army claim any more liberty than 
a slave on a cotton plantation ? Was not the authority 
of the master as absolute in the army as on the cotton 
plantation ? Was not the life of a soldier as absolutely 
in the hands of the officer, as the liberty of the slave in 
the keeping of the master ? Were not soldiers often 
driven through heat and cold, storms and floods, with 
short rations and scant clothing, even to death itself? 
Were not family ties disregarded by drafting officers for 
the army ? The soldiers' suffering and death, and the 
country's desolation, wrought by cruel, bloody war may 
be called a military necessit}^, but it cannot be harmon- 
ized with the spirit and genius of the Christian religion. 
So slavery is not consistent with the universal father- 
hood of God and brotherhood of man, but through all 
these things an over-ruling Providence was working 
out the solutions of the problems of the world's prog- 
ress. Slavery and war may have been necessary to 
remove the obstacles which the wickedness of man had 
placed in the way of the world's development. Like 
the suffering which results from disease contracted by 
violations of sanitary laws, such evils are to be deplored 
as inevitable results of man's disobedience to the laws 



292 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

established for the government of the universe. 

If God solved the problems of converting forests into 
farms and slaves into freemen in such ways, to man 
mysterious, why may he not solve the race question in 
some way to man unforeseen ? 0, ye of little faith ! 
Ye blind guides ! Be not bitter against each other. Do 
not unduly exalt your own wisdom in efforts to solve a 
problem no man, perhaps, fully comprehends. " Trust 
in the Lord, and do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the 
land, and verily thou shalt be fed." 



CHAPTER XXI. 



MILDER FORMS OF SLAVERY. 

Having given a fair and full statement of tlie abuses 
of slavery on the plantations of the worst masters 
and over-seers, it seems proper to describe some 
of the better things that fell to the lot of the negroes on 
the farms of the best masters before the war. The best 
positions in the whole system of slavery were those 
held by personal attendants and domestic servants in 
aristocratic Southern homes. 

Select servants, carefully trained for special domestic 
duties under the old system of courtly manners, were 
kept about every plantation mansion. This was one ot 
the best features of the system of slavery. Such serv- 
ants had the same high ideas of personal honor and 
family pride that characterized their masters. • They 
magnified their office, believed strongly in " first fami- 
lies " and "select society," and looked with contempt 
upon "common niggers" and "poor white folks." 
They were originally' selected from the great mass of 
slaves on account of their brightness of intellect and 
moral qualities, and these good traits were carefully 
nurtured and developed in them throughout their gen- 
erations. Such positions of honor as they held were 
somewhat hereditary when once established, and de- 
scended in regular succession from parents to children 
on condition of good behavior and satisfactory service. 
They were by nature the very pick and Aower^of their 



294 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

race, and every care was taken to properly train them 
for their high calling. Slovenliness in dress, uncleanli- 
ness of person, awkwardness in manners or unreliability 
in the performance of any of their duties would not be 
tolerated by their exacting masters. They were con- 
tinualh^ associated with the white people, wdiom they 
served, in the highest circles of aristocratic society. 
Such training and association greatly improved them 
with each generation, and during the period of slavery 
such a policy developed some noble specimens of the 
negro race. Those select servants had the advantage ol 
good blood as well as of careful training and high social 
privileges in their development. I^early all of them 
were more than half white, and many of them could 
claim very brilliant ancestry. They were honest, truth- 
ful, digniHed and courteous. They were governed by 
the social code from a sense of honor, and were never 
beaten. In many cases their relationship to the mas- 
ters they served was very intimate, and not infrequently 
it was even closely confidential. By nature and educa- 
tion they were the leaders of their race, and they stand 
to-day, as they have always stood since the war, as me- 
diators between the two races. In the days of slavery 
the positions they held were little less than honorable 
ofiices, with satisfactory emoluments, in minature gov- 
ernments. 

There were many slave owners who treated all their 
negroes with great kindness. Some planters would not 
employ over-seers who would abuse their slaves. I have 
before me as I write a letter from an aged minister of 
the gospel. He was familiar with every phase of slav- 
ery in the South for many years before the war. In de- 
scribing the best features of the system of slavery, as it 
came under his own observation, he srWes an instance 



KINDNESS TO SLAVES. 295 

in which a large slave owner who was a personal friend 
of his, showed a devotion to his own slaves that was both 
tender and touching. During an epidemic, the planter 
referred to sat in his own negro cabins, tenderly nurs- 
ing the sick and comforting the distressed, for fourteen 
nights in succession without an hour's sleep save an oc- 
casional short nap in the day time. Every delicacy in 
the way of nourishment, and every comfort in the way 
of clothing and furniture, that money could buy, were 
freely provided for the sick. The negroes had the best 
medical attention the ablest physicians in the country 
could give them, and the master himself cheered the sor- 
rowing and comforted the dying by Christian kindness 
and godly conversation. lie read the Scriptures to them, 
prayed for them and talked with them about the glory 
land of love and life undying. All work on the planta- 
tion was suspended, and those who were not sick were 
permitted and required to devote all their time to those 
who were afflicted. All this is vouched for by one who 
was an eye witness of the case. 'Nor was that man an 
isolated exception among slave owners. I have known 
many planters who treated their negroes with as much 
kindness as is here described. Such men were in the 
minority among slave owners, I admit, but they were 
numerous enough to constitute an important element ot 
humanity in the system of slavery. 

Those good men among Southern planters took great 
pride in keeping their negro cabins neat and attractive. 
Ordinarily their cabins were built of hewn logs, or 
plank, and finished off with neat brick chimneys and 
vine-clad porticos. The usual style was double cabins 
with an open hall between. The cabins were built in 
rows, and often there were as many as thirty roofs on a 
plantation. Each cabin had a back garden well culti- 



296 



SEVENTY YEARS IX DIXIE. 




PREACHING TO SLAVES, 297 

vated ill all kinds of vegetables, and a neat little front 
yard set with flowers, vines and ornamental shrubbery. 
The negroes were allowed ample time from their Avork 
on the plantation to cultivate their gardens and keep 
their front yards in order, and they were recjuired to be 
neat and cleanly, as housekeepers, in their own homes. 

On those plantations the negroes were well supplied 
with wholesome food and comfortable clothes. They 
were also amply provided w^ith plain, but substantial 
furniture for their cabins. 

Good masters respected the religious convictions of 
their slaves and took pains to provide for them church 
privileges and religious instruction every Sunday. 
There were many preachers among the negroes, and 
their labors were supplemented by sermons from the 
ablest white preachers in the country whenever the ne- 
groes requested it. It was no unusual thing for a 
planter to bring a distinguished preaclier from a distant 
city at his own charges, to preach to his slaves and to 
the few white people of his vicinity. At camp-meetings 
and in times of great revivals, the negroes were always 
allowed to select from among all the white preacliers 
in attendance the one t^^^aj preferred to hear on Sunday, 
and their choice was always respected by the committee 
of arrangement. In such cases, it was esteemed by the 
white preachers themselves as no small compliment to a 
man's pulpit ability, for the negroes to request him to 
preach for them. 

Marriage relations and obligations were sacredly re- 
spected by good masters among their negroes. In the 
arrangement of their home life in their cabins, matri- 
monial happiness, family ties and parental authority 
were sacredly guarded. Marriage was commended and 
encouraged, the sin of adultery was rebuked, and any 



298 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



reasonable sacrifice was cheerfully made, by tbe good 
master, in tlie matter of buying and selling slaves, to pre- 
serve the families and marriage relations intact. Children 
were taught to obey their parents, and parents were re- 
quired to take the government of their oflspring. 

On the best regulated plantations, negroes were al- 
lowed reasonable time for diversion, recreation and 
social enjoyment. A pic-nic, or even a barbecue, with 
the usual accompaniment of speaking and a bran-dance, 
was not an unus- 
al thing. A gen- 
eral gathering of 
the negroes, on 
such a planta- 
tion, for a dance 
by moonlight 
without losing 
any time from 
the regular hours 
of work, was of 
more frequent 
occarrence. At 
such gatherings, 
those who were 
not disposed to 
join in the dance 
spent their time 

in social conversation and in such games as suited their 
taste. The boys and young men would show off their 
accomplishments in jumping, running, turning hand- 
si:)rings, standing on their heads, wrestling, boxing and 
lifting heavy weights, and the girls and young women 
would watch such performances with the interest and 
admiration of mingled love and jealousy. 




COTTON BOLLS. 



AMUSEMENT AMONG SLAVES. 299 

Sucli gatlierings were never lield without tlie master's 
permission, which, however, was easily obtained under 
ordinary circumstances. In many cases seats for the 
white folks were arranged at those gatherings, and the 
young ladies and gentlemen from "the hig house" 
would come and he interested spectators of all the per- 
formances. Those gatherings were ahvays held under 
the trees in some grass-carpeted woodland near the 
plantation residence when the nights were pleasant and 
cloudless, and the moon was at its foil. It is difficult 
to imagine a scene more weird and romantic than a 
lawn party and bran-dance, conducted by slaves, under 
moon-lit Southern skies in balmy spring or melancholy 
autumn. 

Yery few slaves manifested any interest at all in even 
the elementary principles of education, but, on the best 
regulated plantations, those who wanted to learn were 
taught to read and write, at least. The teaching was 
usually done by the sons and daughters of the good 
master, and the dusky pupils nearly always pursued 
their studies with a view to qualifying themselves 
for the mhiistry. In fact there was no other 
calling open to slaves, and their ideas of an educated 
''nigger preacher" — ''one o' dese yere high I'arnt 
bucks " — never included more than ability to read in- 
differently in Bibles of very coarse print, and to write 
an illegible hand. Those preachers among the negroes 
who could n't read, and they were probably in the ma- 
jority in all churches, would come regularly to hear the 
Bible read every Saturday evening by some member of 
the master's family. It was no unusual thing to see a 
gay and flattered belle of society reading the Bible on 
Saturday evening to one of her father's old gray-haired 
negro preachers, to post him up for his Sunday sermon. 



500 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



In such cases the reader woukl often be moved by the 
attentiveness, dignity, reverence and solemnity of the 
listener, till she would utter the words with a serious- 
ness of manner and pathos of voice strangely out of 
harmony with her usually gay and frivolous life. 

But the negroes greatly preferred the reading of " ole 




LISTENING TO " OLE MISSUS READ. 

Missus," as they called her, and put more confidence in 
her version of the Holy Scriptures than in what the 



HO W SLA YES MADE MOKE Y. 301 

young folks read. In tlieir sermons they deliglited to 
assure their audiences that " dat's what de bis: Book 
say, jest zactly Hke ole Missus done read it to me." 
And when the big Book was quoted, just like "ole 
Missus " read it, that settled the question and ended all 
controversy. 

The best masters gave their slaves holiday every Sat- 
urday afternoon. Many masters encouraged slaves to 
make money of their own, and gave them fair opportu- 
nities to accumulate personal property. On many plan- 
tations it was the custom to give every slave a little 
patch of ground to cultivate for himself on holidays, 
mornings and evenings before and after work hours, and 
at such other times as the negroes were not at work on 
the plantation. It was left optional with each negro as 
to whether he would spend such odd bits of time work- 
ing for himself, and many of them preferred idleness to 
work for themselves. But I knew several slaves who 
would make many dollars worth of cotton on their own 
patches in their own time. Such money as they could 
make in this way they were allowed to spend as they 
saw proper. Many slaves, in the run of a few years, 
accuranlated money enough to buy their freedom. I 
know several who bought both themselves and their wives 
with their own earnino;s. But a few weeks ao:o I was 
assured by one of the most reliable negroes in the coun- 
try that he made as high as one hundred and fifty dol- 
lars in one year. He was saving money to buy himself 
and his wife, and had over a thousand dollars in " hard 
money" buried under his cabin floor when the war 
came up and set him free. 

These milder features of the system of slavery devel- 
oped a type of negroes entirely different from, the spec- 
imens of the race which were brought up on the large 



302 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



plantations of more cruel masters. The negroes who 
were trained up by good masters had more intelligence, 
honor, virtue and self reliance than their less fortunate 
brethren from the plantations of harder task-masters. 

When the war closed, the most intelligent negroes 
from the plantations of those 
good masters were the best 
Cjualilied people in the South, 
barring the old over-seers, to 
take the management of the 
vast herd of liberated slaves, 
who had never kuow^n anything 
in their lives but to work under 
the direction of over-seers. 
They had the confidence of both 
races, and they w^ere entirely 
competent to manage a busi- 
ness of considerable magnitude. 
They were the very salvation 
of the country in the manage- 
ment of cotton plantations im- 
mediately after the war, and 
I believe they will prove im- 
portant factors in the further 
solution of the race problem. 
Between them and the wdiite 
people there is good feeling and 
perfect confidence. They seem 
to intuitively comprehend the real character and mag- 
nitude of the race problem. They know how sadly 
the great mass of their own race, descended from the 
old-time " common niggers," need education, and hon- 
esty, and industry, and virtue. They have no political 
aspirations to turn their heads, and they never stir up 




THEIR OWN COTTON. 



CONSER VA TIVE NEGROES. 303 

strife between tlie races by clamoring for social equality 
with the white people. They have no unpleasant recol- 
lections of the system of slavery, and no unkind feelings 
toward their old masters. They have never received 
anything but kind and courteous treatment from the 
white people of the South, and they feel that their 
rights and interests are perfectly secure in any govern- 
ment that is administered by their old-time, well-tried 
white friends. They are not lacking in patriotism, and 
they are as devoted as the white people of the South to 
their own section of country. Denunciations of the 
South and abuse of Southern white people create no en- 
thusiasm in them. They have no disposition to ex- 
change the people they have known so long and so 
favorably for leaders of whom they knoAV nothing. 
They are too true to their early training in modesty to 
rush into the common herd and take an active part in 
political hustings, but their influence is always felt as a 
great conservative force in times of dangerous excite- 
ment. They have no particular ambition to be at the 
head of affairs in politics themselves, and they have but 
little confidence at all in the worthiness of those of their 
own race who do aspire to such positions. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



For a few years just before the war the South was a 
land of cotton, negroes, mules and magnificence. South- 
ern planters were among the richest people in the United 
States. The South was a country of palatial homes and 
magnificent estates. A well appointed cotton planta- 
tion consisted of several thousands of acres of land, 
from four hundred to a thousand negroes, and as many 
mules as could be used to advantage, with other prop- 
erty in proportion. 

There were no railroads, telegraph lines, telephone 
companies, land and improvement companies or street 
railway companies for people to invest money in. They 
spent their money mainly in extravagant living. They 
clothed themselves in fine raiment and fared sumptu- 
ously every day. Every country home had its costly 
furniture, fine horses, magnificent carriages, expensive 
shrubbery, silks, satins, diamonds, imported wines and 
costly works of art. A reception at a farm house on a 
cotton plantation was an aftair of state. 

Religiously, Southern people, including all classes of 
society, were firm believers of the Bible. There is but 
little skepticism among native Southern people to this 
day. The old-time aristocracy at the South modified 
the form and spirit of their religion to suit their social 
customs and political views, of course, but they never 
for one moment doubted the inspiration of the Bible. 
C304) 



MAGNIFICENT HOMES. 



305 










nll'iili 



306 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

They did not claim to hold anything in political econ- 
omy, social customs, religious doctrine or church polity 
in defiance of the Bible. Their effort was to so construe 
the Bible as to make it teach, or tolerate, at least, what 
the people were determined to practice. Pastors and 
politicians labored to prove that slavery, State's rights 
and secession were taught in the Bible. 

Education in aristocratic circles always included a 
course of thorough training in society accomplishments. 
Life among Southern aristocrats was wholly occupied 
in one continual round of fashionable gayety and social 
enjoyment, and the education of the young people was 
ahvays designed to iit them for the life that was before 
them. 

Colleges and universities were conducted on the same 
general plan of lavish extravagance and courtly dignity 
which characterized the high circles of society. The 
curriculum in every aristocratic institution of learning 
included a thorough drill in polite manners and strict 
social etiquette. The code of etiquette and honor was 
as rigidly enforced by public sentiment in schools, sem- 
inaries, colleges and universities, as in any other depart- 
ment of high society. To fail to act the part of a high- 
born gentleman according to the accepted standard of 
deportment, would have expelled a boy from college or 
university^ and disgraced him in society. 

They had a queer standard of gentlemanly deport- 
ment in those days, of course, but they enforced it rig- 
idly. Drunkenness and gambling were considered 
harmless diversions, if not enviable accomplishments, 
but discourtesy to ladies or treachery toward enemies 
was an inexcusable offense against good breeding. 
Young men in colleges and universities were expected, 
if not required, to maintain the dignity of their families 



PLEASURE TRIPS. 307 

ill eliampagne parties and swell sprees. Tliey were fur- 
nished money by tlieir parents, to make a display of 
wealth and good breeding in all manner of extravagant 
living, and w^ere made to feel that the honor of their 
families depended largely upon the amount of money 
they squandered in display and style while in college. 

Southern planters spent much time and money, trav- 
eling for pleasure, on Mississippi steamers. To gratify 
the fastidious tastes of aristocratic travelers, money, 
time, labor and ingenuity were united to make the old- 
time steamers on the Mississippi absolutely perfect, as 
to comfort, convenience and elegance, in the matter of 
accommodations for passengers. They were nothing 
less than floating palaces. They furnished every con- 
venience for social enjoyment, such as could be found in 
the best appointed mansions in the South. The world 
has probably never produced anything more extrava- 
gant and sumptuous in all of its appointments, in the 
way of a public conveyance, than one of the best- 
equipped, old-time Mississippi steamers. Kings' courts 
have rarely been the scene of more reckless extrava- 
gance or regal bearing in general manners of life, than 
one of the best appointed steamers on the lower Missis- 
sippi just before the war. It was simply magnificence 
gone wild. It w^as the quintesence of extravagance, 
dignity, formality, courtesy and debauchery combined. 
That brief period of Southern wealth, magnificence and 
aristocracy was an epoch in the history of the world, 
such as we may never see again. 

High society everywhere was fashioned on a courtly 
scale. Admission to the circle of select society was a 
guarantee of good character, as measured by the recog- 
nized social standards, and implied an obligation to 
conform to all the requirements of social etiquette. A 



308 



SEVEXTY YEARS IX DIXIE. 



breacli of etiquette was punished by prompt and irrevo- 
cable ostracism from the best society. 

Men stood upon their honor as unflinchingly as wo- 
men upon their virtue. Social eticpiette tolerated 




A DUEL. 



o;reater immorality in men than in women, of course, 
but the requirements of good breeding were rigidly en- 
forced without regard to sex. When the code of honor 
required a man to fight a duel, society enforced the re- 



STATESMEN AND POLITICIANS. 309 

quirement on pain of social ostracism. In such a case 
man could no more de<3line to fight a duel than woman 
could compromise her virtue without exciting the con- 
tempt of society. 

Ante-helium Southern aristocracy was made of highly 
tempered metiil. It could be broken, but it would not 
bend. 

Southern planters were Statesmen and politicians by 
the nature and necessities of their business. In the 
days of Abraham they would have been called kings. 
In the congress of aristocratic society each planter rep- 
resented a constituency of no mean proportions. The 
management of an extensive cotton plantation was prac- 
tical statesmanship. In those days of rude implements, 
limited resources and great obstacles in agriculture, it 
required considerable political and financial ability to 
successfully manage a cotton plantation. 

To love life more than honor was the sin unpardona- 
ble. Confidential gossip, which reflected upon the 
character of any person in good society, was not toler- 
ated, '^o man was allowed to malign another in a 
whisper. Back-biting was beneath the dignity of a 
gentleman. If any man felt disposed to speak disre- 
spectfully of another, society demanded a straight-for- 
ward, out-spoken, personal reflection, which the parties 
interested must settle between themselves on " the field 
of honor." Society never took the trouble to trace up 
tales or hear evidence respecting personal character. 
Personal reflections were not settled that way. The 
man who would go behind the reflection itself, to raise 
any question as to the grounds upon which it was made, 
forfeited the respect of his peers in society and showed 
himself a man of low breeding. Xor could a man just- 
ify a reflection, so as to excuse himself from meeting 



310 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

tlie usual and almost inevitable consequence of it, which 
was a personal encounter, by proof even strong as holy 
writ. The ground, upon wdiich the imputation was 
based cut no figure in the case. The ofipender must re- 
tract and apologize, or fight. 

Questions affecting personal character were rarely re- 
ferred to courts of law. All such questions were settled 
in the higher court of society. To carry a personal 
grievance into a court of law degraded the plaintiff* in 
the estimation of his peers and put the whole case be- 
neath the notice of society. The party defendant in 
such cases declined to appear before the court, suffered 
judgment by default, paid the findings of the court in 
dollars and cents and stood upon his right of personal 
vindication. If his enemy declined to meet him in per- 
sonal combat, society reversed the decision of the court, 
ostracized the successful plaintiff and lionized his 
enemy. 

To take an enemy unawares or at a disadvantage was 
an offense against good breeding w^hich society would 
not excuse. A man unarmed was as safe in the power 
of his deadliest enemy, as in a garrison of his truest 
friends. The man who would not hazard his own life 
in defense of his bitterest enemy wdien unarmed, was a 
craven coward. To seek or accept any advantage of an 
enemy in a duel to the death, was an offense against 
good breeding which would disgrace any man in good 
society. 

The highest authority in aristocratic society was a 
sort of unwritten law called '^ the code of honor." It 
was far more respected than either the laws of the land 
or the mandates of religion. It was of no avail to inter- 
pose the acts of the legislature or the precepts of divine 
inspiration against ''the code of honor." 



THE CODE OF HONOR. 311 

A duel was called '' an affair of honor." When one 
man insnlted another, the ag-grieved simply notified 
the insulter that he held him personally to account for 
the insult. Such notice was called a '' challenge." The 
man challenged had his choice to either retract and 
apologize, or fight. If he decided to fight, it was his 
privilege to name the time, place and weapons. Each 
combatant selected a friend, and these chosen " sec- 
onds"' arranged all the details of the duel. Pistols were 
usually selected as the weapons, though swords, and 
even knives, were sometimes used. The combatants 
met at the time and place appointed, the " seconds " ex- 
amined the weapons, stationed the antagonists and gave 
the word for the fio;htino: to besrin. The "seconds" 
also stood by to prevent either of the " principals " from 
taking any advantage, and to carry the antagonists 
from the field, and see that they had all necessary surg- 
ical attention when wounded, and proper burial when 
slain. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



GOOD MANNERS. 

Society openly engaged in many tilings contrary to 
Christianity, but in all such things it never violated the 
'• code of honor " in letter or spirit. The code of social 
etiquette recognized the right of society to gamble, and 
defined man's rights and duties in games of skill or 
chance as definitely as it pointed out the difference be- 
tween proper and improper deportment in the parlor or 
ball-room. Men were as stiff' and unyielding, touching 
points of good breeding on the race-track or at a card 
table, as in a drawing room. One incident will iUus- 
trate : 

There was a race-track near the home of an old-time 
Southern planter, at which society magnates assembled 
every year to wager money freely upon the speed of 
favorite horses. On one occasion, after the people had 
all assembled, and everything was ready for the races 
to begin, it was discovered that certain disreputable 
fellows had taken a mean and dishonorable advantage 
for their horses in the arrangement of the preliminaries 
for the races. The old aristocrat, though taking no 
part in the races, grew indignant at such disreputable 
conduct, and promptly took matters in his own hands. 
Mounting his horse he rode out upon the track, faced 
the assembled multitude, removed his hat, bowed cour- 
teously and stated the case. " And by all the powers 

above and below," said he, " not a race shall be run on 

(312) 



HONOR AMONG GAMBLERS. 



313 







BREAKING UP A HORSE RACE. 

. .. 1 loif" The crowd promptly dispersed, 
dishonorable even among gamblers. 



314 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

Gallantry was a leading characteristic of old-time 
Southern gentlemen. There were no women in the 
eyes of such men ; all females of human kind were 
ladies, except slaves, of course. The man who would 
remain seated while a woman, no matter how poor and 
humhle, was standing, or even uncomfortahly crowded 
in her seat, would have been promptly kicked out of 
a public conveyance, as an intolerable bore. Boister- 
ous, profane or indecent language in the presence of 
ladies was an oiiense against society which any man of 
good breeding was in honor bound to punish if he could 
not prevent. 

Hospitality was another leading trait in old-time 
Southern society. The traveler found a hearty welcome 
in every Southern home, and the wealth of the host was 
always lavished upon the traveler with a delicacy of 
taste and sincerity of hospitality such as would insure 
his comfort and enjoyment. Well-trained servants 
complied with every wish of the guest, and the enter- 
taiment of strangers and travelers seemed to be the 
pleasure of the entire household. They were not only 
delighted to entertain strangers, but seemed actually 
anxious to have them remain in their homes as long as 
possible. Every member of the old Southern household 
welcomed travelers to the best hospitality the home 
could provide, and bade them, adieu with evident reluc- 
tance to see them. go. 'No remuneration was expected, 
or would be accepted, for such hospitality. 

Language, both in conversation and current litera- 
ture, in high circles of society, was remarkable for 
stateliness, dignity and formality. The commonest oc- 
currences and simplest matters in every day life were 
spoken of, in ordinary conversation, in carefully 
arranged sentences and well-rounded periods. Items of 



SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY. 315 

news were expressed in the papers in pompous phrases, 
which savored of the dignity and forniaUty of kings' 
courts. Vulgarisms and slang phrases were carefully 
excluded from the vernacular of high society. Nothing 
in the guise of low wit or vulgar humor was ever at- 
tempted in social conversation or current literature. 
With all the formality and homhast imaginable, in the 
arrangement of sentences, those old-time aristocrats 
would round up to the statement of the commonest and 
most immaterial little facts conceivable. They never 
employed a simple and direct form of expression when 
they could possibly think of a stilted and high-sounding 
circumlocution that would even vaguely suggest their 
meaning. They never attempted to state themselves, 
touching any matter, in that jocular, rough-and-ready, 
vulgar dialect of close, confidential companionship so 
effectively used on all occasions by newspaper para- 
araphers, stump-speakers, popular lecturers and even 
preachers, in these latter days. The language of that 
old-time aristocracy, whether spoken or written, touch- 
ing politics, science, literature or religion, was the stiff- 
est, most stately, formal and stilted medium of thought 
imaginable. Children were carefully trained from their 
very infancy up, in the use of the bombastic and pompous 
vernacular peculiar to that stilted generation. Even 
the slaves who were employed as domestics about plan- 
tation residences imbibed the spirit of the age and tried 
to imitate the lordly airs and stately language of their 
masters. 

In matters of dress and general deportment, the code 
of social etiquette ruled every individual as with a rod 
of iron. There was no relaxation, diversion or recrea- 
tion from the stiffness and formality required by society. 
From the cradle to the grave, every member of aristo- 



316 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

cratic society was continually on dress parade wliGn not 
on duty in actual society engagements. Every soul was 
constantly in full society uniform, drilling in the man- 
ual of social etiquette. Good breeding required an ab- 
solute uniformity and slavish formality in style and 
general deportment, in every department of social eti- 
quette, which was murder in the first degree to all 
individuality and originality. Under such a system, 
progress, discoveries or inventions in any department of 
human endeavor were absolutely impossible with those 
who were subjects of such environments. It is no 
marvel, therefore, that all discoveries, inventions, im- 
provements and progress in science, art, polities, sociol- 
ogy and religion emanated from the brains of men 
outside of the pale of aristocratic society. Such society 
was a dead sea of stilted formality, and though the liv- 
ing stream of humanity was continually pouring into it, 
there was never a rise or a fall of so much as a hair's 
breadth in the dead level of its eternal monotony. It 
was the staked plane of barren humanity, across whose 
dreary waste toiling emigrants from the old order of 
things marched in solemn, stately file to the new dis- 
pensation of modern improvements, without discover- 
ing an oasis of so much as one independent, individual 
action. 

The stilted dignity and staid formality of select soci- 
ety in that age betokened a generation of disciplinari- 
ans. The whole social atmosphere was redolent with 
the principle of rulership. Those staid old pillars of 
aristocratic society in the South were just such speci- 
mens of humanity as the famous old Roman senators, 
whose strength of character and powers of discipline so 
long resisted the decline and down-fall of the Roman 
Empire. 



DIGNITY AND DISCIPLINE. 317 

Aristocracy and slavery were but diliereut parts of 
the same social sj^stem. ]N"either could have existed 
without the other. E'othing hut the unbending, un- 
yielding, uncompromising, stiit'and stately formality of 
old-time Southern aristocracy could have disciplined, 
over-aAved and held in abject and oppressive slaveiy the 
vast negro })opulation, which, in many sections of the 
South, out-numbered the white population by ten to 
one at the most conservative estimate. And nothing 
but the most abject slavery of the masses could have sus- 
tained such lordly extravagance of the classes. If we as- 
sume, therefore, that Providence had some wise purpose 
to subserve by the perpetuation of either slavery or old- 
time aristocracy, till "the fullness of times," it is easy to 
understand why both had to continue till the purpose of 
God was accomplished. And when the time for a change 
was fully come, it was immaterial whether the revolu- 
tion took the form of a popular protest against aristoc- 
racy or an open attack upon slavery. In either case the 
result would be the same, for the destruction of either 
must also prove the abolition of the other. 

The rigid social discipline in high circles of society in 
the South in olden times, trained the leaders of the 
white people for martyrdom. They were not the kind 
of people to be concpiered, or subjugated. They Avere 
the sort who have to be exterminated. They defiantly 
led "the lost cause " till they were well nigh annihilated, 
and the whole country was completely devasted. With 
them the rebellion was "an affair of honor" on a large 
scale. When once the issue was joined, they couldn't 
see any honorable way to avoid a fight. They looked 
at the whole question in the light of the teaching of the 
" code of honor." And why should they look at it in 
any other light? " The code of honor" was the highest 



318 



SEVENTY/ YEARS IN DIXIE. 




INDEPENDENCE AND SELF-RESPECT. 319 

authority they recognized. Many of the leaders in the 
South, therefore, looked upon the late war as a sort of 
personal matter. They did not go hehind the open 
declaration of war, to consider the grounds upon which 
such declaration w^as hased. They had not been trained 
from their youth up to do anything of the kind. When 
the issue came, they understood that the only alterna- 
tive was to retract and apologize, or fight, and they 
promptly decided to fight. 

The independence, self-respect and self-reliance bred 
and born in the women, children, invalids, cripples and 
aged men who survived " the lost cause " in the South, 
served a good purpose in causing them to endure the 
hardships, privations and desolation through wdiich 
they passed during the years succeeding the w^ar. The 
whole course of human training for generations back, 
was w^ell adapted to prepare a people to endure the pov- 
erty which fell to the lot of the South after the war. 
But for that spirit in the people, the fortunes of the 
country would never have been rebuilt. With a less 
measure of unconquerable pride and a greater love for 
luxury and ease, they would have emigrated from a 
country so completely devastated by war and so hope- 
lessly burdened w^ith the support of a thriftless negro 
population. It is worthy of note, as showing the metal 
of Southern people, that very few families emigrated to 
the ^N'orth after the war, to escape the hardships every 
one could see must be endured before the w^aste places 
of the country could be rebuilt in the midst of such 
poverty and desolation. In some cases those wdio did 
leave their native country in ruins, to find better envi- 
ronments in ^N'orthern States, were remonstrated with 
by friends and relatives for their lack of patriotism. 
Whatever else is true of the spirit and genius of such 



320 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

old-time society in the South, it unquestionably trained 
a people to endure great hardships rather than compro- 
mise their self-respect by fleeing for assistance to the 
people and country they considered their enemies. 



CHAPTER XXIY. 



~^ HARD TIMES IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

Up to tins point, the story of " Seventy Years In 
Dixie " lias been in the form of a personal narrative of 
an old man whose memory of men and things extends 
back to 1820. For good reasons, Avhich need not here 
be assio-ned, I desire to give, in this chapter, the story 
of hard life among the poor mountaineers of the South, 
in the form of a personal narrative of a much younger 
man. I need not give any names. It is only necessary 
to ask the readers to remember that in this chapter they 
have the observations and experiences of a boy not yet 
in his teens when the war began. His whole life, up to 
that time, had been spent in the hill country of the 
South several miles back from the rich bottoms and 
broad valleys where negroes abounded, wealth flour- 
ished, cotton reigned and extravagance ran Avild. 

That once far-back mountain country is now — 1891 — 
noted for mineral wealth, thriving cities and extensive 
mining operations and manufacturing industries, but 
before the war it was populated by very poor people, 
who depended entirely upon farming for subsistence. 
Barring a few thousand acres bordering upon the fertile 
valleys, these mountains were considered comparatively 
worthless before the war. Every valley plantation which 
lay near the mountains extended back into the hills far 
enough to include a few hundred acres of wild lands for 
timber, but beyond that the poor people were left in 
21 (321) 



322 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

undisturbed possession of that rugged country. Onl}^ 
a very small portion of the hill country could be culti- 
vated at all, it was so rough and rocky, and the best 
of it yielded discouragingly small harvests for the 
amount of labor required to cultivate it. The farms 
were small, the fields were narrow and lay mainl}- on 
hill-sides, and the soil was thin. Kewly-plowed ground 
washed fearfully on those steep hill-sides every heavy 
rain, and after a few years cultivation little of it re- 
mained but a heap of stones mixed with barren day. 

A certain old mountaineer was once referred to as a 
very peaceable man, whereupon, a noted wag said : 

" Of course he is peaceable. He couldn't be other- ' 
wise where he lives. His old hill-side farm is so poor 
he can't raise a difliculty on it ! " 

The hill country was well watered by living springs 
and limpid brooks, and the people were blessed with 
vigorous constitutions and perfect health. The popula- 
tion increased as rapidly as the soil failed, and each 
year the difficulties of making a bare living multiplied. 
There was no market for anything but cotton, and that 
grew but poorly at best in the mountains. To raise 
cotton on those hills in competition with slave labor in 
the fertile bottoms, was starvation undisguised. And 
yet, what else could the poor people do? The large 
planters produced everything they needed in the way of 
supplies on their own plantations, by slave labor, and 
supplied the towns and cities with everything salable in 
the way of country produce at the same slave-labor, 
starvation prices. The poor people were, therefore, 
hopelessly driven out of the markets, and forced to sub- 
sist upon the products of their own barren little farms. 
^OY was there any relief to be found in selling their 
labor. There were no manufactories in the country, nor 



RUNNING THE LINE. 323 

was there any demand for labor of any kind except the 
labor of slaves and over-seers. The demand for over- 
seers was very small, and hence the great mass of poor 
white people were hopelessly shnt up to lives of unflag- 
ging industry and severe economy on their little moun- 
tain farms. 

Under the laws of the United States, a " homestead '" 
consisted of a '' quarter-section " of land, which was one 
hundred and sixty acres. The mountaineers " took 
up " land generally under the '^ homestead law,'' and 
this largely regulated the size of the farms. It was an 
extra good " homestead " that had as much as sixty 
acres of land that could be cultivated at all, and not a 
few farms had much less than that amount that could 
be plowed. ]^ow and then a '' homestead " would 
extend down into a narrow bottom on some small creek 
or branch, and when eight or ten acres of such land in 
one body fell to the lot of one man, his farm was the 
envy and admiration of the mountaineers for miles 
around. The location of dividing lines through such 
precious soil was a question in Avhich the community 
took a deeper interest than in national elections. 
"When the interests of two men were involved in such a 
squabble, every man, woman and child in the commu- 
nity, for miles around, joined in the contention. When 
the county surveyor arrived, according to appointment, 
to " run the line " across the celebrated bottom in dis- 
pute, he invariably found the people of the whole 
neighborhood on the ground, to see that he did the 
thing fairly. Of course there were always two parties 
to the dispute, and each one knew exactly where the 
line ought to be. They measured distance by ste2)S, and 
settled the question of direction by the sun, moon, seven- 
stars and other guides equally reliable. What chance 



324 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

did a surveyor's compass and cliain stand against con- 
clusions settled by such infallible methods ? The sur- 
veyor never settled anything unless by chance his com- 
pass and chain " split the difference/' in which case the 
parties to the fuss generally accepted the compromise 
with fairly good grace. And the frequency with which 
the compass struck the golden mean between contend- 
ing extremes, leads me now to suspect that those old 
surveyors often found their instruments disturbed and 
turned away from the true course by the local attrac- 
tions of contending parties. I well remember how my 
feelings were enlisted in a neighborhood feud about a 
line across a narrow strip of bottom land when I was 
but a lad not yet in my teens. It was an old fuss then, 
and it was still raging with unabating fury the last time 
I was in that neighborhood. Out of that old feud have 
grown rival churches, rival schools, rival politics and 
rival social circles. It is all a preacher's orthodoxy is 
worth on one side of that fuss in that neighborhood to 
express an opinion that the other side may possibly be 
correct in some of their doctrine. Any school-teacher 
who is acceptable to one party in the squabble, would 
not be trusted, under any circumstances, by the other 
party to teach their children Arithmetic or English 
Grammar. I have a distinct recollection that, in my 
very early childhood, during the war, I always asso- 
ciated my favorite statesmen and soldiers, in my mind, 
with my side of the old neighborhood fuss about the 
location of that line. I was too young then to know 
much about the Mason and Dixon line, but I remember 
how my little mind associated it with the line that had 
always been a source of discord in our neighborhood. 
I know I thought the Mason and Dixon line must have 
made sad havoc of somebody's bottom field, to stir up 



THE MASON AND DIXON LINE. 325 

such a war, and I wondered wliether there would ever 
he a war over the hue our neighborhood was always 
making such a fuss about ! I had some very decided 
convictions about the Mason and Dixon line, little as I 
knew about it, and as for that other line which cut the 
best bottom field in the country to tatters at our very 
door, I was ready to sacrifice myself upon the altar of 
my country over it at any moment. It is a weakness 
of my nature of which I am heartily ashamed, but I 
must confess that even to this day I feel nearer to those 
who were on my side of that line in those far-ofi* days 
of my childhood, than to those who were on the other 
side. I know this is all wrong, and by an efibrt of the 
will I can easily shake off such feelings, but the bent of 
my nature is that way. And in my dreamy momeuts 
at this late day, I find myself, half unconsciously and 
all wrongfully, feeling that Paul and Peter and the 
Lord Jesus Christ must be on what was my side of that 
line in the blessed days of my childhood. I remember 
how my little mind doubted the reliability of the com- 
pass and chain which, I must confess, were against me. 
I remember the process of reasoning, if my childish 
efforts may be dignified as such, by which I condemned 
the compass and sustained my conclusions. I shall 
never forget my admiration for the argument first sug- 
gested by a wooden-headed old numskull and after- 
wards repeated by men, women and children on our 
side of the question whenever the occasion called forth 
our strongest logic. The surveyor was trying to satisfy 
everybody, and he therefore took pains to try to explain 
to us all how he followed the line. 

" ^ow, you see, the needle of m}^ compass, here, 
always points toward the ^orth," said he. 

"But how do you know that is Xorth ?" 



326 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



"Why, because the needle points that way, of 

course." 

" Great Jerusalem I Would you call just anything 




HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT S NORTH : 



North because that thar little thing happens to p'int 
to'ards it ? " 

Then the old nincompoop made an argument against 



NAER W BOTTOMS MAKE NARROW MEN. 327 

the surveyor and his compass which was considered 
unanswerable for years afterwards in that neighbor- 
hood. 

" S'pose the thing does p'int North. What's that got 
to do with this case ? This here line runs East and 
Westr 

The original parties immediately interested in the 
squabble have long since died or moved away, and most 
of the land in dispute is worn out and thrown away 
these many years ago, but the two parties in that neigh- 
borhood still nurse their prejudice against each other. 
By diligent work in political, religious and labor 
organizations the division is still kept up, and the 
humane spirit of love and brotherly sympathy com- 
mended in a world-wide system of Christianity and 
philanthropy makes slow progress against the partisan 
bitterness which originated in the squabble about that 
line years ago, and which has been perpetuated b}^ dog- 
matic leaders throu2:h narrow and sectarian oro^aniza- 
tions in politics and religion. 



CHAPTER XXY. 



MISERY IN THE MOUNTAINS. 

Wheat would scarcely grow at all on those poor, 
worn-out and washed-away hill lands, and to buy flour 
was a piece of extravagance not to be thought of. The 
family that could afford flour-bread for breakfast every 
Sunday morning, and on special occasions when com- 
pany of unusual notoriety was present, was counted 
among those peculiarly blessed. The ordinary diet was 
bread made of coarse corn meal, strong coffee and fat 
bacon. And the fat bacon and strong coffee often came 
in broken doses at distressingly long intervals during 
the hard years. Whole families would often live for 
weeks at a time on dry bread made of coarse corn meal 
without grease or salt. 

Notwithstanding the poverty and hardships those 
people suffered, life had its silver lining for them. 
They were completely isolated from the world, and but 
for their occasional trips to market when they caught a 
glimpse of the magnificent farms and residences of the 
wealthy planters in the valleys, they would not have 
known there was any better lot for man on earth than 
theirs. The small mountain farms yielded, on an average, 
about two bales of cotton each, which would bring in 
market from thirty-five to forty dollars, net, per bale. 
This was the annual gross receipts, in cash, of the farm, 
and these few dollars had to be divided out so as to buy 

medicine, cofiee, sugar, soda, salt, pay taxes and pro- 

(328) 



JOHN LOONY'S MESHKIT. 329 

cure such otlicr articles as were indispensable to life 
and impossible to make on the farm. The wagon that 
hauled the cotton to market brought back such articles 
as must be bought, and the remainder in cash was care- 
fully saved for tax and other emergencies. The head 
of the family usually rode on horse-back to market, 
sold the cotton and carried the spare cash. The wagon 
was drawn, usually, by oxen and driven by ''the boys " 
of the household. Occasionally, after the wagon was 
started on its return home the head of the family 
would imbibe too freely, and if he once lost his balance 
" the surplus in the treasury " would be squandered by 
reckless and extravagant appropriations before he left 
the town. Once a man maudlin drunk called lustily at 
a cabin in the mountains, on his return from market. 

"Who is that?" came in sharp tones from the cabin. 

" Itsh John Loony." 

"What do you want?" 

" I want to shee you." 

"■ What do you want to see me for ? " 

" I want you to (hie) zaniin ish meshkit." 

The owner of the cabin came out and found John 
Loony as drunk as an owl, on his old olind horse stu- 
pidly holding on to one end of a bolt of brown domes- 
tic while the whole web stretched back full forty yards 
down the muddy road. He had been to market, sold 
his cotton and started his wagon back home. After 
the wagon was gone he got drunk and bought a bolt of 
domestic, which he had undertaken to carry home on 
his horse. The web had come undoul)led, and, too 
drunk to refold it, he had held on to one end, dragging 
the bolt belnnd him in the mud. Knowing it was more 
domestic than John Loony was able to afford at one 
time, the man asked : 



330 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



" What in the world are jou going to do with all this 
cloth ? " 

Leaning over and putting his mouth close to the 
man's ear, John said, in a confidential whisper : 

" Don 't you shay nothin' 'bout it. I want to sh'prise 
my old 'oman. You shee its a new frock for her. 
Shay ! My old 'oman aint had a store-bought frock 
before shince we been married ! " 

The soiled cloth was care- 
fully folded, and, tightening 
his grip on it, John moved off, 
chuckling to think how he 
would " sh'prise his old 
'oman " with a new brown 
domestic frock ! 

A few days ago I had a 
couA'Crsation with a popular 
preacher about the hardships 
poor people in mountain 
regions throu g h o u t the 
South suffered before the war. 
The preacher had spent some 
years in his early ministerial 
life preaching in such re- 
gions. His brother was also "sh'prise my old 'omam." 
a preacher and co-laborer with him in the moun- 
tains before the war. Seeing I was interested in south- 
ern ante-bellum reminiscences, he said : 

" My brother and I have often talked to each other 
about the hard fare we had while laboring in the 
mountains. I thought I had certainly seen the very 
severest types of poverty, but I must confess he sur- 
passed me in one case, so far as diet is concerned. He 
went home with a s'ood brother in the mountains one 




'C'OOiVVS' HEAD AND POLK SALAD. 331 

clay for dinner, and the only things on the table to eat 
were coarse corn bread, sassafras tea and a 'coon's 
head boiled with polk salad ! " 

'' Speaking of hard fare in the mountains," said an 
old surveyor, who had "been there" himself, "I 
stopped at a little log cabin in the hills to spend a night 
once when out on professional business. I soon learned 
that 'the family' consisted of a youthful couple recent- 
ly married. There was but one room in the house, the 
cracks between the logs were open, there was no ceil- 
ing over-head and the floor was made of roughly hewn 
pimcheons. The roof was constructed of rough clap- 
boards weighted down by young trees and the chimney 
was made of sticks and bedaubed with red clay. The 
fire-place was from five to seven feet wide, and the fuel 
was a huge pile of big, blazing logs lighted up by resin- 
ous pine^ There was not a chair in the house, and a 
rough bench before the fire was the only chance for a 
seatt The only cooking vessel on the place was a large 
skillet, and the only thing to cook was coarse corn 
meal. A magnificent spring of pure water gushed from 
the mountain-side hard by, and a gourd was the only 
water vessel in the family inventory. The young wife 
mixed some dough without grease or salt, in the skillet, 
and baked a huge pone of bread before the roaring fire. 
When it was ready to serve, the fact came out that 
there was not a knife, fork, cup, saucer, plate, dish, 
spoon or table about the premises. The little woman 
took the sheet from the bed, spread it on the cabin 
floor, turned the skillet upside down and tumbled the 
pone of bread out upon the sheet. She then informed 
us supper was ready. Fortunately, I had a pocket 
knife, with which I carved the formidable pone, and we 
sat flat down on the puncheon floor and helped our- 



332 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

selves to the bread ! " The reader now has before 
him a fair and not overdrawn description of the two 
extremes of society in the South when the war began — 
the highest circles of slave-holding aristocracy and 
the iDOorest classes of mountain society. Between 
these two extremes there were many grades of society, 
but the same unbending spirit of independence and 
self-reliance pervaded all classes. The old aristocrats 
and the other classes made an army that was unconc[uer- 
able and equal to any emergency in the matter of rigid 
discipline and patient endurance of extreme hardships. 
The Confederate army needs no further description. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



SECESSION AND THE WAR. 

In tlie following pages I give the story of secession 
and the beginning of the war in the Sonth as told by 
one who was bnt a boy not yet out of his teens during 
that historic period. This will give a clear idea as to 
the motives which prompted and governed the actions 
of the people, without confusing the mind of the reader 
with the abstruse plans and theories of the leaders. And, 
after all, this is the true standpoint from which to judge 
the people of the South touching the part they took in 
the late unpleasantness. Moreover, this is considering the 
subject from a new angle of vision. Writers on this 
question have hitherto given ample attention to the lead- 
ers and their theories and plans, but who has told the 
story of the beginning of the w^ar from the standpoint 
of the people ? The young man gives his recollections 
in the toUowing words : 

It is impossible to describe the excitement which pre- 
vailed throughout the country during the canvass before 
the question of secession was voted upon, and the few 
weeks following during wdiich volunteers were enrolled 
for the army. Barbecues, picnics and mass-meetings 
were held all over the country, the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence was read publicly in every assembly, orators 
poured out the vials of their wrath upon "tyrants," 
'' invaders " and " oppressors," and boys not yet out of 
school offered to sacrifice their lives in defense of Ameri- 



334 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

can liberty and the Constitution of the United States J. 
To people who passed through those memorable days 
in Dixie, it seems queer to hear Southern men and wo- 
men spoken of as " traitors," " rebels," " enemies of 
American liberty "" and foes of the Constitution." I 
know not what may have been the secret motives of 
wiley leaders, if there were any such leaders, which I 
gravely doubt, but as for the people, nothing but patri- 
otism pure and simple moved them to vote secession 
and to enlist in the army. The people at the South 
felt just as confident that the people at the I^orth con- 
templated a deliberate overthrow of the Republic as 
their fathers in the Eevolution felt that King George 
was a tyrant. In all the public orations and private 
discussions the idea that slavery was the bone of con- 
tention never once entered the minds of the common 
people. They thought they were contending for genu- 
ine old George Washington liberty. They understood 
that the Constitution of the United States was assailed, 
and that they were offering themselves for its defense. 
The question, as they understood it, was whether Amer- 
ican liberty should be perpetuated or crushed by I^orth- 
ern monarchy. Fighting for slavery? Think of the 
absurdity of the thing ! The Southern army was 
largely made up of volunteers from the mountain re- 
gions. There were no slaves of consequence in that 
mountain country, and those poor mountaineers hated 
" stuck-up " slave holders as cordially as a saint hates 
sin. True, they understood in a vague sort of way 
that there was some discussion on the subject of slavery 
in a general way, but to them this was only an incidental 
and irrelevant topic of public interest which was in no 
way connected w^ith the question of secession. The 
people understood that the question at issue was simply 



WHAT THE SOUTH FOUGHT FOE. 335 

tlieir right to manage their own affairs in their own- 
States. If the JN'orth proposed to interfere with that 
right, what assurance had they that it woukl not take 
from them their homes and all their property ? I know 
not what the leaders thought, but there was no mistak- 
ing the feelings and opinions of the common people. I 
was but a lad not vet out of school, but I remember 
distinctly that I understood secession was not rebellion 
against the American government, but that it was the 
genuine American government itself, pulling loose 
from a tyranical monarchy, so that it might defend 
itself! I understood that in seceding the South held on 
to the Constitution, and the Declaration of Independence, 
and Bunker Hill monument, and the life of George 
Washington ! True, I had no definite idea as to what 
the Constitution really was, but I was perfectly confi- 
dent we had it, and, what was more, we Avere going to 
keep it ! We traitors ? We rebels against the American 
government and enemies of the Constitution ? Shades 
of Washington and Bunker Hill! Why, what were the 
people up in the mountains fighting for if not for the 
Constitution? Fighting for negroes, were they ? "Oh, 
shoot the negro," said they, ''and his master, too, just 
so we save the Constitution, and the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence and the American eagle ! " What did they 
care about slavery? Hadn't it been as a thorn in the 
flesh to them from time immemorial? Did not every- 
body know that the iTorth had set aside the Constitu- 
tion, throttled our liberty and pulled the tail feathers 
out of the American eagle? As I write these lines, an 
echo from the stirring scenes of 1860 seems to come 
floating over the graves of thirty buried years. The 
crowds surging around the speakers' stand at a mass- 
meeting in the woods ; the animating music ; the stir- 



336 SEVENTY YEARS IX DIXIE. 

ring speeches of distiuguislied orators ; the cheers and 
yells of excited audiences ; the groups of men in earnest 
conversation; the flushed faces and sparkling eyes of 
patriotic women ; lovers strolling through the groves — 
I see it all as plainly as if it were but yesterday. Such 
were. the scenes during the canvass before the people 
voted on the question of secession. I remember well 
the speeches, and their effect upon the people. I re- 
member the very gesticulations and inflections of the 
speakers, and the expressions of indignation which 
burst from the excited audiences as the long list of our 
wrongs was recounted. I remember how ladies clapped 
their hands and waved their handkerchiefs when those 
masters of assemblies closed their powerful orations by 
pledging themselves and the patriotic South to the de- 
fense of the liberties so dearly purchased by our fore- 
fathers in the Revolutionary war. I ramember how, 
with a pathos which I cannot describe, the speakers 
told us that a centralized power that would presume to 
invade a State and set aside the right of local govern- 
ment which was recognized and protected by the Con- 
stitution when it was adopted, was a tyrant not to be 
trusted. AVhat better guarantee had we for the pro- 
tection of our wives, and mothers, and children and 
sweet-hearts than we had for the protection of oar right 
of self-government in our own State? I remember how 
I stood, a mere lad, with burning cheeks and clinched 
fists, near the speakers' stand under a giant oak, as I 
listened to such words of pathos, and patriotism and 
love for mother, sisters and home as would move a heart 
of stone ! I remember how screams and sobs from the 
women electrified the frantic audiences, and I remem- 
ber, too, how the men sprang to their feet, stood on the 
rude seats and, wild with excitement, threw their hats 



PATRIOTISM OF THE SOUTH. 



337 



into the air and yelled themselves hoarse for freedom 
and American rights ! Vote for secession ? Of coarse 
we voted for it, and we wanted to get hold of the man 
who didn't. Were we traitors against the American 
government? Great Ciiesar's ghost! AVc were just 




" RAH FOR AMERICAN LIBERTY, 



getting ready to fight, and bleed, and die to save the 
American government. We were not seceding from 
the government. We were the government itself, the 
original George Washington edition of it, and we were 



338 SEVEyTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

seceding from a Yankee counterfeit! I was too small 
to reason about anything, so I know my feelings on the 
subject were simply the prevailing public sentiments 
which I absorbed and reflected. I had no idea what 
the Constitution and the American Government were, 
or where they were, but I understood that the South 
had them and wanted to secede to hold them. I didn't 
understand where they were just at that time, but I was 
confident our side had them concealed somewhere 
among the stufit', and that they would be brought forth 
just as soon as we could secede and get off a safe dis- 
tance where we could protect them ! 

Secession was not anarchy. Those who believed in 
secession believed also in a federal government. They 
believed in the union of States and proposed to defend 
that Union at all hazards. The question with them was 
as to whether the Union had a right to disregard the 
sacred compact on which it Avas formed. The people of 
the South were willing to stand by the Union with 
their lives, and never for one moment entertained 
a thought of violating in letter or spirit the solemn 
compact on which that Union was based. The princi- 
ple against which they protested was the right of the 
Union to compel a State to do anything which it had 
not obliirated itself to do in the Constitution on which 
the union of States was originally formed, and which 
the Federal Government solemnly pledged itself to 
observe and defend when the States entered the Union. 
Any interference with the rights of a State on the part 
of the Federal Government not authorized by the Con- 
■stitution, the South denounced as treachery in the 
Union, an unwarranted assumption of power, a despotic 
spoliation of a helpless minority and a violation of the 
spirit and genius of American liberty! It has been a 



PURE MOTIVES. 339 

long time since I lieard these questions argued, and my 
memory is but second-rate at best, but the impressions, 
feelings and motives of the people were too deeply 
stamped upon my mind and heart ever to be erased. I 
remember how the speakers told us that if it had been 
understood, when the vote on the adoption of the Con- 
stitution was originally taken, that the Federal Govern- 
ment should have the right at any time after a State 
came into the Union to abolish any organic law of that 
State wdiicli was recognized at the time that State was 
admitted into the Union, not a single State in Ainerica 
would have adopted the Constitution. 

In voting for secession the people of the South did 
not understand that they were voting for a war. They 
were told that there would be no Avar about it. It was 
a common thing for a public speaker to say, '' I'll drink 
every drop of blood that is slied on account of seces- 
sion! " In the excited condition of the people, war was 
not considered of any great moment one way or an- 
other, and the South would probaldy have seceded any- 
way if every voter had felt conlident a war of extirmi- 
nation would have been the result, but it is nevertheless 
true that hardly anybody apprehended that a serious 
war would grow out of secession. There were many 
conservative spirits in the South who were very earn- 
estly opposed to secession, and who voted against it, 
but in the excitement of those days they either deemed 
it useless to speak or the people thought it unneces- 
sary to consider their warnings. 

I am neither a statesman nor a politician. I shall 
not stop to express an opinion as to whether the people 
were right or wrong in their convictions as to these 
things. To put it in the very strongest light possible 
against them, the most that can be said is that they 



340 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

were in error. Still, they were honest. They acted upon 
their convictions. They were prompted by motives as 
pure and as patriotic as human hearts ever cherished. 
Such people deserve not to be rashly condemned, se- 
verely denounced or bitterly persecuted because of an 
honest mistake, and certainly it cannot be anything 
worse than a mistake. 



CHAPTER XXYII. 



ENROLLING VOLUNTEERS. 

But the greatest excitement came after the States had 
seceded and war had heen dechired. Mass-meetings were 
then held all over the country to enlist soldiers for the 
the army; speakers turned themselves loose in denunci- 
ations of the tyranny of the Xorth, and the people went 
wild with excitement. The rough mountaineers and the 
aristocratic planters embraced each other ; " iirst families " 
forgot all social barriers and mingled freely with the 
common herd ; millionaires enrolled their names beside 
mendicants for the army; and society belles prome- 
naded with back- woods volunteers who had never seen 
the inside of a fashionable parlor ! One night at a ball, a 
boy was sent with a message from some society young 
ladies to their aristocratic mammas in an adjoining 
room. The ball was given in honor of the volunteers 
about to leave for the army, and the message was a 
question as to whether those society girls should dance 
with the back- woods volunteers whose movements in the 
ball-room were as the tramping of "the ox that tread- 
eth out the corn ! " The boy was promptly told to in- 
form the young ladies that it would be an unpardona- 
ble breach of etiquette to either dance with any man 
who was not a volunteer, or to decline to dance with any 
gentleman who was a volunteer! And there was a pe- 
culiar emphasis and inflection on certain words in tlio 
sentence which meant clearly that any male who was 

(341) 



342 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



not a volunteer was a " man,'' and that every man who 
was a vohinteer was a gentleman ! The boy faithfully 




BELLES AND VOLUNTEERS. 



reprodncecl the message with its essential emphasis and 
inflections, and duly enjoyed the "grace'' of the moun- 



3IEN AND GENTLEMEN. 343 

tain ^'boomers" as they "cut tlie pigeon wing" in 
rough cow-hide boots and plain home-spun shirts, 
minus any color, around the blushing, smiling belles 
whom they seemed afraid or ashamed to touch ! 

Society was instantly revolutionized. Volunteers 
were lionized, and those who were not volunteers were 
publicly snubbed. The prospective soldiers had a mo- 
nopoly of social circles, and every man who refused to 
enroll his name for the army was socially ostracised and 
publicly disgraced. It may not have been thus all over 
the South, but in the region of which I can speak from 
personal knowledge, it was even worse than I can de- 
scribe. The excitement spread throughout the country. 
Boys in schools, colleges and universities caught the en- 
thusiasm and deliberately exchanged their books for 
muskets and swords. Institutions of learninor throuo:h- 
out the' country were closed in a single day, without 
warning. Pupils and teachers went in a body to enlist 
in the army. Some idea may be formed as to the read- 
iness with which men enlisted in the army from the fact 
that many counties furnished a greater number of vol- 
unteers than they had legal voters, which means that 
there were more boys under the age of twenty-one who 
went to war than there were men over the ao:e of twen- 
ty-one who remained at home. On this basis, remem- 
bering the probable number unfit for army duties by 
reason of old age, infirm healtli and other causes, it may 
be said everybody enlisted in the army ! 

It was not a mere transient feeling of excitement in 
which they volunteered. Tlicy went in to win, and 
they proposed to "fight the fight to a finisli." The en- 
rolling officers were authorized to register volunteers 
for. different periods of service. As the men came for- 
ward to enlist, they were always asked "for how long?" 



844 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




THE l^OLDIERS' BALL. - 345 

To this question a rough-looking mountaineer, with 
clinched lists and set teeth, expressed the sentiment of 
the whole country. when he said : 

''Well, Squire, you may put me down fur life, or 
durin' the war ! I'm goin' to win this fight or die 
at the hole ! " In that spirit they all enlisted. Poor 
boys ! Most of them died '' at the hole ! " 

The difficulty of getting arms and uniforms for the 
volunteers was a serious obstacle. As there were no 
factories in the South the uniforms were principally 
made by hand. Women worked almost night and day 
to get their husbands, brothers, fathers and lovers ready 
to go to the front. Even the cloth for the uniforms had 
to be spun and woven by hand, and then the garments 
had to be cut and sewed by hand. It was impossible 
to buy even dye-stuif with which to color the material 
for soldiers' uniforms. They had to gather barks and 
roots and boil an ooze with which to color the goods. 
And when " the boys " were dressed for the army, a 
ludicrous spectacle they made. No two uniforms were 
of the same color. But what mattered it ? They cov- 
ered honest, brave hearts for a few days, and then 
served as grave-clothes for mangled bodies in far-away 
lands ! 

I cannot suppress a smile now as I remember the 
novel way in which " the boys " in a certain mountain 
district armed themselves for the conflict. Pistols and 
guns they had none, nor could they get any, but such 
deadly weapons as they could get they provided for 
themselves and marched to the front. Those formida- 
ble weapons were simply huge butcher knives made of 
large files by a country black-smith, and " mounted " 
witli "buck-horn" handles! A country cobler made 
rough '' scabbards and belts " to suit those hand-made 



346 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



^-^ 



butcher knives, which he sold at a round price in " con- 
federate money" and very cheap for "hard money." 
The honest black-smith drove a thriving business mak- 
ing knives as long as he could get files, or other bits of 

steel, but he was too patriotic 
to charge anything like the 
prices his monopoly of the 
market for "munitions of war" 
would have enabled him to com- 
mand. A few enterprising spec- 
ulators bought up all the files 
in the country, " cornered the 
market in steel" and heaped up 
for themselves riches while the 
■...„.. !.. — — — patriotic smith 
worked for the 
good of the coun- 
try and died poor 
at a good old age, 
after the war, 
honored and re- 
spected by all 
who knew him. 
When this com- 
pany of moun- 
taineers ^v a s 
equipped for the 
DANGEROUS WEAPON. War, witli bark- 

dyed uniforms 
and home-made butcher-knives, they looked more ludi- 
crous than formidable. About this time report came that 
the Federal gun-boats were coming up the Tennessee 
river, and the captain was ordered to report with his com 




AHMED FOR THE CONFLICT. 



347 



pail}" for duty iit ^e\v Port fortliwith. Hastily summon- 
ing his men to rendezvous attlie little log country church, 
he called together the whole neighborhood for a relig- 




MOUNTAINEERS ON THE WAR PATH. 



ious revival. This may seem a rather deliberate way of 
obeying such a command, but it liad tlie merit of both 
originality aiid piety, and the latter was a strong point 



348 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

in military tactics with tliose cliurch -going people. The 
idea of rushing into anything, no matter what, without 
" opening with prayer," was not to he entertained for 
one moment ! And shoukl these poor men be rushed 
into battle, where their bodies would be exposed to 
death and their souls, if unconverted, to hell without 
any religious preparation ? 

The people of the whole country came together — 
men, women, boys, girls, babies and dogs. The preach- 
ers of all denominations joined m a union revival meet- 
ing. Wives, sisters, mothers and sweet-hearts labored 
and prayed as they had never done before, for the con- 
version of husbands, brothers, sons and lovers. The 
power of God came down and the blessings of heaven 
were poured out. The altar was crowded with anxious 
mourners, and many souls were gloriously converted. 
The revival swept everything before it, and for several 
days and nights the people rejoiced together in heavenly 
places in Christ Jesus. The soldiers were about all 
converted, the meeting was closed, the last sad good-byes 
were said, and the line of march was taken up. It was 
more than a week now since the order came to report 
at once for duty at ]^ew Port, to meet the enemy's gun- 
boats, but no matter. The time had been well spent. 
The soldiers were iixed so that if they lost their bodies 
in battle, they would save their souls in heaven. The 
captain gave the command to march, the women 
screamed, the babies cried, the preachers groaned in 
spirit, the dogs howled dolefully, the small boys yelled 
'' 'Rah for Jeff Davis and the Southern Confederacy," 
the line moved, the war began [ Oh, the dark, dreary, 
bloody days that followed! Oh, the dear boys who 
marched away that day, so l)rave and yet so innocent 
and ignorant of the ways of the world and the cruelties 



THE SOLDIERS' GOOD-B YE. 349 

of war ! I can see it all now in my mind's eye ! Their 
ludicrous uniforms, made by the loving hands of wives, 
mothers, sisters and sweet-hearts ; their new red-leather 
belts and scabbards with the buck-horn handles of big 
home-made butcher knives clearly visible ; and their 
solemn, steady tramp, tramp, tramp, as they marched 
aAvay — all this made an impression upon my childish 
mind and heart which seems to deepen as the years 

When they reached ^N'ew Port a week or ten days be- 
hind time, they learned that the gun-boats had not 
come, and that other companies of Confederate malitia 
Avhich had preceded them, had left for Huntsville, Ala- 
bama. They had but one gun of any kind in the whole 
company, and it was an old-fashioned, muzzle-loading, 
double-barrelled shot gun with one tube out and the 
other hammer broken off! But with that old fowling- 
piece and their formidable butcher knives they managed 
to besiege and capture a barrel of new corn whisky, and 
in a short time they were all as drunk as lords and as 
happy as new converts, so recently out of a revival, 
could well be expected to be. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



STORY OF THE WAR. 

The story of tlie war would hardly interest tlie reader. 
It has been told so often, that nothing new remains to 
be said. It was a gloomy time in Dixie. Only those 
who lived through those troublesome times in the South 
can ever know fully what the war really was. I shall 
therefore hasten over that, to me, ever painful period in 
the Seventy Years in Dixie. I have no desire to linger 
upon the memories of the war. Many mistakes were 
made, vile sins were committed, and not a few deeds of 
love were done which show the divine nature that is in 
man all the brighter because of the darkness and gloom 
of the environments. 

During the war I did what I thought to be my duty, 
but when I was mustered out of service I shed bitter 
tears of defeat and disappointment over the grave of 
"the lost cause," and solemnly resolved to fight no 
more. War is a terrible thing. The life of a soldier was 
not calculated to increase my piety. My environments 
in the army were not at all favorable to the development 
of the better elements of my nature. Fighting, as a 
regular occupation, is a bad business every way. It 
calls out all the latent meanness in the human species. 
It can never be defended or excused on any other ground 
than as a choice of evils, and in the light of my experi- 
ence I am disposed to hold that it is the last choice a 

man should make. 

(350) 



A CHAPLAIN'S DIFFICULTIES. 351 

I enlisted in the army as a preacher of the gospel and 
was assigned the dnty of a chaplain. It was the hard- 
est place to till in the whole army. I Avas expected to 
cnt my sermons to fit the pattern of our occupation as 
soldiers. Jt was a hard thing to do. It was expected 
that my preaching, prayers and exhortations would tend 
to make the soldiers hard fighters. It was difiicult to 
find even texts from which to construct such sermons. 
I soon discovered that I would have to close my Bihle 
and manufacture my ministerial supplies out of the 
whole cloth. 

Some of my preaching brethren told the soldiers, in 
their sermons, that our cause was just and that God 
would fiffat our battles for us. I never did feel author- 
ized to make any such statements. I believed our 
cause was just, of course, but I could see as clear as a 
sunbeam that the odds were against us, and, to be plain, 
I gravely doubted whether God was taking any hand with 
us in that squabble. I told some of the preachers who 
were making that point in their sermons that they were 
taking a big risk. I asked them what explanation they 
would give, if we should happen to get thrashed. I 
told them such preaching would make infidels of the 
whole army, and put an end to their business, if we 
should happen to get the worst of the fracas. I wanted 
to do my duty as a preacher in the army, but I didn't 
want to checkmate the ministry in case we should come 
out second best in the fight. I think a preacher should 
always leave a wide margin for mistakes when it comes 
to interpreting the purposes of God beyond what has 
been clearly revealed in the Scriptures. It is not good 
policy for a one-horse preacher to arbitrarily commit the 
God of the universe to cither side of a personal difiiculty 
anyhow. I told the soldiers plainly that I didn't know 



352 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



exactly what position God would take in that ficrht 
feo far as I could see, the issue was a personal matter 
between us and the Yankees, and we must settle it, as 
best w^e could, among ourselves. 
It is not difficult to see how this line of argument led 




"the fighting parson." 

me away from the true spirit of the ministry, and thor- 
oughly aroused within me a desire to fight. It became 
clearer to me every day that one good soldier was worth 
a whole brigade of canting chaplains so far as insurina- 
the success of our army was concerned. If I must 



TROUBLE FOE THE BOYS IN GEAY. 353 

preach to others so as to make them good fighters, why 
not give them an object lesson on the battlefield myself? 
My premises may have been wrong, but my conclusion 
was certainly not illogical. 

So I asked for a gun, took a place with " the boys "and 
was dubbed the " lighting parson." At Bull Run I 
stopped the fragments of a stampeded regiment at the 
muzzle of a revolver, and led them back into the fight. 
I have no idea how I looked ; I do not want anybody to 
know how I felt. The imagination of the artist is 
wholly responsible for the illustration of that scene -in 
my eventful career. I have made no suggestions ; I 
offer no protest ; I ask no explanations ; I attempt no 
defense. 

I have no evidence that I ever killed or wounded any 
one during the war. I sincerely hope I never did, and 
deeply repent the bare possibility of such a thing. I 
want no fratricidal blood on my hands. As I now stand 
trembling upon the verge of the grave and look back 
over the dreary years of an unprofitable life, I weep o'er 
my many blunders, look trustingly to God for mercy, 
open wide my arms to a sin-cursed and sorrow-burdened 
world, and in the tenderest love for all and with malice 
toward none, say : '^ We be brethren ! " The war was a 
mistake and a failure. All wars are mistakes and fail- 
ures. They may sometimes be necessary evils, but if so 
it is only because man's wickedness makes evil neces- 
sary. A heart-weariness and soul-sadness ^no pen can 
describe come o'er me when I think of those dark days 
of bloody war with their tiresome marching, wasting 
disease, cold, hunger and consuming anxiety ! 

We went into the war with light hearts and bright 
hopes. We thought we had the richest country, the 
bravest men, the finest homes and the prettiest womeD 
23 



354 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

in the world. We believed we had the wealth and the 
chivalry of the United States. Our whole country was 
in the highest possible state of cultivation, and every 
plantation fairly groaned under the burden of 
its surplus of supplies. We were on our metal, 
we felt our importance, and we thought we could whip 
anything. 

But a few years of hard lighting took the conceit out 
of us. There was clearly an error in the calculation 
somewhere. The lack of manufactories was the m.issing 
link in our premises, which soon showed the fallacy in 
our conclusion. The South was well prepared to feed 
an army, but it could not equip one. The whole South- 
ern Confederacy combined could not manufacture even 
a horse-shoe nail or a belt-buckle when the war began. We 
never did have a decent supply of even shoes, hats or 
clothing, ^ot a single regiment in the whole Confed- 
erate army was ever thoroughly equipped for the war. 
We had nothing to fight with and there was no way to 
get it. As a nation, we had neither capital, currency, 
credit nor collaterals. We couldn't manufacture arms 
and ammunition enough in the whole Confederate gov- 
ernment to thoroughly equip one company for the bat- 
tlefield. Factories were started as soon as possible, 
with the resources we could command, to manufacture 
such military supplies as were most urgently in demand. 
But it takes time to build factories, even under the most 
favorable circumstances, and we were as scarce of time 
as factories. The war was npon us. Whatever we did 
had to be done, to use a strong figure, without fortifica- 
tions and under strong fire from the enemy. We were 
still further embarrassed from lack of the necessary ma- 
chinery to start factories with. Manufacturing is a 
complicated business. To start a factory for any partic- 



LOVE FOE THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 355 

ular line of goods or implements, it is necessary to draw 
upon several other factories for the needful machinery. 
One factory is needed, to manufacture the machinery, 
to start another. You cannot start a factory to make 
cloth, for instance, Avithout engines, boilers, cards, spin- 
dles, looms, etc. All those things must be made by 
other factories. In our eft orts to start factories we were 
[)uzzled to find any place to begin the business. 

We were still further embarrassed from lack of 
skilled labor to establish and operate factories. Xobody 
in the Southern Confederacy knew anything about such 
business. We had always been an agricultural people. 
I^Tegroes did most of the labor in the South before the 
war, and they were of no more value, except on farms, 
than an engine without a boiler. There were not even 
men enough in the South before the war who had any 
knowledge at all of factories or machinery of any kind, 
to have superintended and successfully managed manu- 
facturing establishments enough to supply the demands 
of the country witli the simplest articles needed at home 
and in the army, even if the government had been 
amply provided with manufacturing plants. 

But why dwell upon such bitter memories? My soul 
finds no pleasure in them. The whole world knows 
the story. The end came at last, as we all knew long 
before, it must sometime come. Those of us who un- 
derstood the real condition of the country and the utter 
hopelessness of our cause, knew we were continuing the 
struggle against irrevokable doom long before the end 
came, and yet no one was in favor of surrendering even 
to fate. We held out long after it ceased to be a war 
or a fight. It was nothing less than standing defense- 
less, unarmed, naked and without food, to be butchered 
rather than acknowledge defeat. Ah, the cruelties of 



356 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

war ! God pity the stubbornness of a beart in rebel- 
lion against fate ! 

I am glad now that in those dark days of strife and blood- 
shed, I often ministered to the comfort of those who wore 
the blue as well as those Avho wore the gray when they fell 
into my hands, mangled by shot and shell or racked 
with pain and emaciated by disease. While I was gen- 
eral hospital agent of the State of Mississippi with a 
hundred thousand dollars of public money and two 
hundred thousand dollars of individual donations sub- 
ject to my order, I labored night and day to see that all 
who fell into my hands received every attention, con- 
venience, comfort and delicacy that could be provided 
in a war-swept and famine-blighted land. I saved the 
lives of many, and tried earnestly to guide the souls of 
many others, whose bodies were mangled beyond hu- 
man skill to save, to the rest that remaineth for the 
people of God. I often stood by the side of the dying, 
both on the battle-fields and in the hospitals, and many 
a time I became the bearer of the last tender messages 
of love, which dying soldiers begged me to deliver to 
loved ones at home. The hearty " God-bless-you," so 
familiar to my ears in those dark days of blood-shed and 
suffering, often comes to me now, after the lapse of 
more than a quarter of a century, in vivid dreams at 
night and lingers in my failing memory during the day. 
I remember well the fervency with which a poor 
wounded Irishman uttered the familiar " God-bless-you " 
on the train en route to Richmond after the first battle 
at Manassas. I was in charge of the wounded, taking 
them to hospitals in Richmond. We had a number of 
wounded prisoners in a freight car, lying on their blank- 
ets spread upon straw on the floor of the car. My at- 
tention was arrested by the groans of a man who 



A WOUNDED SOLDIER. 



357 



seemed to be sufFeriiig intensely. I asked if I 
could in any way assist him. A ball had passed through 
his thigh, shattering the bone, and the wound had 
been hastily and poorly dressed on the battle-field four 




THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

days before. The dressing had not been changed or 
the wound examined since. He looked up into my 
face with an expression of suffering on his countenance 
I can never forget, and said: " Captain, this is worse 
than death. There are hundreds of creepers in my 



858 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

wound." Poor fellow ! lie could not assist himself, 
and no one among liis wounded comrades was able to 
help him ! I kneeled by his side, removed the bandage 
from his thigh and picked the creepers out of his wound 
with a straw. When I arose to leave him, I can never 
forget the look of gratitude in the blue depths of his 
tear-dimmed eyes as he grasped both my hands and 
said: "May God bless you, sir, forever and ever." I 
gently placed him in a comfortable position on his hard 
bed of dirty straw, and in a few moments he fell into a 
deep sleep. He was a prisoner, and I never saw him af- 
terwards, but the fact that he wore the blue in no wise 
diminishes the pleasure of the memory of the brotherly 
assistance it was my good fortune to be able to render 
him. 



CHAPTEE XXIX. 



AFTER THE WAR. 

When tlie war closed, the South was a land of desola- 
tion and ruin. There was Scarcely a home in all the 
country that did not mourn the loss of its own dead. 
In many homes the ahsent dead out-numhered the des- 
olate living, and in every case the loved, but lost, were 
the strength and support of the family. It was a land 
of disconsolate widows and helpless orphans. Every 
heart was burdened with sorrow and every home was 
shrouded in gloom. There was no place in all the 
South but had its evidences of the ruin of war and 
ravages of famine. With such evidences continually 
before every eye, no heart could for a moment forget its 
sorrow. 

If the people came to the house of God for the com- 
forts of religion, they probably found the walls of tlie 
church pierced by shot and the floor of the very sanctu- 
ary itself stained with the blood of their beloved dead. 
If not so bad as that, they at least found the ashes of 
camp-fires about the church, or the deep ruts of wagon 
trains along the road. There was scarcely a horse or 
a mule in the whole country that did not have the 
familiar army brand, and the people were compelled, to 
clothe themselves in garments made from cast-off and 
worn-out army uniforms. It was difficult to find a man 
in the whole country who had not either lost a limb or 

received a wound in the army. 

C359) 



360 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



The people talked iibout the war continually. " Of 
the ahundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." Ev 
ery heart had its hurden of war-sorrows, and every 
tongue was busy with its tale of army reminiscences. 
It took weeks and even months, for the soldiers, who 
were fortunate enough to get home alive, to deliver all 

the good-by 
messages of love 
sent by them 
from dying com- 
rades in arms to 
sorrow-burdened 
hearts at home. 
The imagination 
of the reader 
must fill out the 
picture of those 
gloomy d a y s. 
I have neither 
the power to de- 
scribe wdiat I 
saw, nor the de- 
sire to reveal 
what I felt. In 
our immediate 
neighborhood, I 
now call to mind 
about a score of 
■men who died 
or were killed in 
the army, and 
less than half after the war. 

that n u m b e r 
who came back to us alive, but maimed or wounded. 




DESOLATION AND EUIN. 361 

to tell us how they died and what they said. Homes 
were in ruins everywhere. In many places, where 
armies camped or where battles were fought, churches, 
school-buildmgs and other pubhc houses were con- 
verted into hospitals, officers' headquarters and 
warehouses for army supplies. It goes without saying 
that in such cases the men in authority did not hesitate 
to make any changes in the buildings thus appropriated 
to the use of the army, which would the better adapt 
them to the purposes for which they were needed, ^o 
care was taken to preserve the property for future use 
after the army was done with it, and the finest groves 
of ornamental trees were often cut down for fuel for the 
soldiers without a moment's hesitation. In many 
cases elegant private residences were despoiled by Fed- 
eral officers, and not infrequently horses were stabled in 
some of the best rooms of magnificent country homes. 
Fences were destroyed all over the country, the rails 
were often used by the soldiers for fuel, and the farms 
were all thrown out in the commons without any pro- 
tection at all in the way of enclosure. 

The people were all impoverished and disfranchised. 
The country was, at first, under provisional military 
rule, and for several years afterwards it was governed 
by professional, transient and imported politicians who 
were as devoid of patriotic principles as they were des- 
titute of personal purity. Offices were created to 
make room for political place-hunters, and the burdens 
of taxation were increased to pay the salaries of officers 
whose services were not needed. State and county taxes 
ran up as high as five per cent, of the assessed value of 
property, and boards were created to fix values as high 
as possible so as to increase the public revenues accord- 
ing to the demands upon the sufiering pubhc treasury. 



362 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 




FROM MAGNIFICENCE TO MISERY. 



863 



The boards often set fictitious and unreasonable values 
upon property, so that the rate of taxation was little 
else than confiscation. One case will illustrate : 




AN ARISTOCRATIC DRAY DRIVER. 

Mr. Lee owned one thousand and six hundred acres of 
as fine land as the country afforded, on the Mississippi 
river below ^iemphis, when he enlisted in the army. 



364 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



When he came out of the army his barns were all de- 
stroyed, his cotton gin was burned, his fences were in 
ruins, his mules were lost in the army and his negroes 
were all freed. The tax on his ruined plantation, for 
one year, amounted to $2,100. He could neither sell 
nor mortgage the entire property for money enough to 
pay the tax. So he forfeited his estate for taxes, 
tramped his way 
to Memphis and 
hired himself to a 
transfer company 
to drive a dray 1 I 
know him person- 
ally, and have of- 
ten listened with 
deep interest to his 
description of the 
hardships he en- 
dured as a dray 
driver in Memphis 
in helping to re- 
build the fortunes 
of the country dur- 
ing the gloomy 
years immediately 
after the war. they started to school. 

Thousands of negroes lounged about the country en- 
joying their newly-found freedom and living without 
work by pilfering the poverty-burdened people. Their 
chief occupations were voting and conducting religious 
revivals, and their highest ambition was to live in town. 
They abandoned the country and drifted to the towns 
and cities, producing a sort of congestion of negro pop- 
ulation in towns, made up largely of poverty, laziness, 




SOUTHERN ENTERPRISE. 365 

filth, ignorance, dishonesty and gross licentiousness. 
Tlie rural districts were almost depopulated, and agri- 
cultural interests were badly neglected. Eeligious en- 
thusiasts began to plan for missionary work among the 
negroes, and friends of education continually urged the 
importance of educating the negro race. Meanwhile 
the negro race was prowling about the country in idle- 
ness, rags, filth, ignorance and immorality in search of 
a square meal! The negro children started to school 
and the w^omen and men joined the church, but that 
didn't solve the race problem. In fact there were so 
many other problems to solve just then, nobody thought 
much about the race problem. 

The greatest problem of those days w^as how a few 
widows and orphans could support themselves, feed 
hundreds of thousands of thriftless negroes, pay enor- 
mous taxes, rebuild their homes, repair their fences and 
sustain a burdensome government without money, 
horses or agricultural implements. 

We hear much of l^orthern enterprise, but I doubt 
whether the history of the United States furnishes any- 
thing in the way of enterprise to compare with the re- 
building of the fortunes of the South since the war. 
Where, indeed, will you find anything equal to it in the his- 
tory of the whole world ? When did widows and orphans, 
with the help of a few invalids, old men and maimed ex- 
soldiers, rebuild the ruins of a country under such disad- 
vantages in so short a time ? In twenty-five years the 
desert has been made to blossom as the rose, and a new 
generation of Southern people has grown up to lead 
the whole United States in material progress. Such is 
the history of the iTew South. 

In rebuilding the ruins of the country after the war, 
the people of the South profited by the lesson they 



366 



SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 



learned during the war. Before the war the South was 
pre-eminently an agricultural country, hut a few years 
of war taught us that man cannot live hy bread alone. 




THE NEW SOUTH. 



!N"o country is self-sustaining without manufactories of 
its own. This lesson was still further impressed upon 



MANUFACTURING INDUSTRIES. 



367 




THE POLITICIAN S DREAM. 



368 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

the South by the utter impossibility of managing negro 
labor successfully on the farms after the war. The 
brain of the South, therefore, was directed to manufact- 
ino:. It soon became evident that the new scheme would 
be a success, and this attracted capital and immigration. 
The South entered upon an era of unprecedented 
prosperity, and in a few years thriving cities sprang up 
as if by magic upon the ruins of ante-bellum fortunes. 
The New South has been built by the same race of peo- 
ple that built the old South. The politicians have 
dreamed and aro:ued about the death's-head of rebellion, 
and the engines of war, and the race problem, and 
Southern outrages, and Northern enterprise; but the 
people of the South have been busy repairing the ruins 
and developing the resources of the country, 



CHAPTER XXX. 



DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 

I have now passed briefly, in review, over seventy 
years of eventful history in Dixie. During that time 
the wealth and the population of the country have 
greatly increased, and our environments have been com- 
pletely revolutionized. Before I lay down my pen, I 
beg the reader to indulge me in a few pages of moraliz- 
ing and philosophizing. That these final chapters may 
not be lightly read and flippantly tabooed, I beg to say 
that in all that precedes them I have only been endeavor- 
ing to lay the premises for these final words as a conclusion. 

In the early days, such things as town life and city 
fashions were scarcely known in all the South, but, as 
the wealth and population of the country increased, 
towns sprang up all over the land, and the luxury and 
extravagance of the new order of things made rapid 
inroads upon the simple customs and industrious habits 
of the economical old settlers. Such innovations were not 
accepted without protest by the conservative old-timers. 
Those who stood for the old ways stubbornly contested 
every inch of ground against innovations of all kinds, 
and those who clamored for something new, boldly ad- 
vocated every new fad or fancy that human ingenuity 
could devise. This brought '• wars and rumors of wars." 
Through all these years there has been an incessant con- 
flict between the new and the old. The new wine has 
been burstinc: the old bottles. Such antagonisms have 
24 " (369) 



370 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

raged in every revolutionary period in the history of 
the world. Many people cling to the old ways, always, 
simply because they are old ways, while 'others contend 
for everything that is new without stopping to inquii^e 
whether it has anything but novelty to commend it. 

The conflict in such revolutionary periods of the 
world's history is not an issue between the superior 
wisdom of progressive minds and the dense stupidity of 
conservative spirits. Those who clamor for a change 
have not more foresight than those who protest against 
innovations. Men have never had any foresight, in any 
age of the world, save as the God of the universe has 
specially endowed them with prophetic vision. 

We all seem prone to worship the creature more than 
the Creator. The world has had its heroes among 
men in every age and in every nation. If we fail to 
look beyond man for the intelligence that governs and 
guides the world, we are peculiarly liable to unduly ex- 
alt human wisdom in an age of such changes and prog- 
ress as we have witnessed during the last seventy years. 
I deem it of the lirst importance, therefore, to keep in 
memory the fact that there is a governing and guiding 
intelligence above and beyond man in this universe. 

God moves and guides the world by providence over 
men. Man is the asrent and not the author of the 
world's progress. Things act only as they are acted 
upon. Man is no exception to this general rule. Hence 
God always moves the world by some present emergency 
in human affairs, rather than by an original ideal in the 
minds of men. When the world begins to move, it is 
axiomatic that something is moving it, but it is not so 
easy .to understand what that something is, or whither 
the movement is tending. 

There have been times in the world's historv when 



FEOGEESSIOy AXB COXSERVATISM. 371 

countries and people remained stationary in many re- 
spects for centuries in succession. The inhabitants of 
Palestine, for instance, have made no considerable 
changes in agricultural methods, domestic habits or 
social customs during the last nineteen centuries. AVhen 
things are thus at a stand-still there are scarcely such 
words as progression and conservatism in the human 
vocabulary. 

It is a mistake to suppose that progressive men are 
those who, of their own inherent force and foresight, 
move forward, dragging the conservative lagganis after 
them. A progressive man is one who, by reason of his 
peculiar environments, feels the power that is moving 
the world. Such men are dissatisfied with things as 
they are, and they clamor for a change. Conservative 
men do not feel the need of a change, and hence they 
protest against innovations. It is doubtful whether 
progressive men have any more foresight than conserv- 
ative ones. 

It is easv enouo^h to tell when the world is moving, 
by the fuss it makes, hut it is not so easy to determine 
which war it is oroino-. TThenever the conflict besrins 
to rage between progressive and conservative men, the 
world is moving. 

There have been wonderful changes, in material 
things, in this country during the last seventy years, and 
the changes, during the same period, in social customs, 
political economy, educational' methods and religious 
institutions, have been equally marvelous. The new 
order of things differs widely from the old, but who will 
say the former is better than the latter ? Ls the new 
order more in harmony with the laws which govern 
man in his existence upon the earth, and with the eter- 
nal fitness of things, than the old ? All changes are not 



372 SEVENTY YEAES IN DIXIE. 

improvements. But back of it all is an unanswered 
question as to who effected the change. Who saw the 
end from the beginning ? Who knew what the new 
order would he \^ hen the changes began ? Who led the 
mighty revolution ? Who formulated the plan of the 
new order of things? We are liable to unduly laud 
those who continually clamored for chaniges during the 
revolutionary period, as leaders of the Avorld. They 
were not leading anybody or anything. They them- 
selves were driven by the unseen power which was mov- 
ing the Avorld, they knew not how nor whither. They 
had no idea which way the world was moving or where 
it would stop. 

The world has always had its self-appointed leaders, 
who talk learnedly of plans, and feign great wisdom in 
the matter of explaining how things must be managed. 
Their words are but the creaking of the wheels of des- 
tiny which are moved by an unseen power and over- 
ruled by an omniscient providence. The wisest of such 
men cannot see a day into the future. If they could 
but know the future of the simplest things of life, what 
fortunes they could make by investing money in 
futures ? 

To me, it is both interesting and instructive, to think 
about the plans and the predictions of the self-confident 
leaders who have engaged the attention of the people of 
the South during the last seventy years. They all had 
their theories, of course, and they wasted their time and 
excited the people, explaining what must be done, and 
demonstrating, to their own satisfaction, what dire 
calamities would inevitably befall the country if tlieir 
policies were not adopted. But, for all their pains, they 
had the poor consolation of seeing an unappreciative 
generation ignore their advice and a stubborn universe 



CONFUSION AND CONTROVERSY. 373 

refuse to fullill tlieir predictions. The conflict was 
sharp and incessant in all departments of human affairs. 
There were discussions in every home, differences in 
every church, issues in every political canvass, disputa- 
tions in every neighborhood and contentions in every 
school district. Society was burdened with plans, and 
organizations, and. parties, and theories, and creeds, and 
platforms. Preachers explained the trouble and pointed 
out the remedy ; teachers discussed the situation and 
showed the way out of the difficulty ; newspapers diag- 
nosed the case and wrote infallible prescriptions, free ; 
and politicians expatiated upon the dangers ahead, and 
oflered to save the country for a trifle. Every man felt 
confident that the cause of all the trouble was in the 
line of his particular business or profession, and that 
the only way to escape impending destruction was to 
ride his favorite hobby. 

Through all this confusion, the Wisdom that created 
the universe was serenely moving and guiding the world 
in its progress. Those fretting, boasting, quarreling 
and busy little creatures called -men were responsible to 
that great Intelligence for their individual conduct and 
deportment, but, short sighted creatures that they were, 
they were not originating in their own little finite minds 
the great plans on which the world was moving. Every 
man had his little sphere of duties and responsibilities, 
and in that sphere he stood or fell upon his deportment 
before the great Ruler of the universe. Each man was 
required to obey the will of the great Governor of the 
world, as respected himself. So long as men follow the 
guidance of Omniscience, every problem in the world's 
progress will be solved correctly and without hurtful 
conflicts, but when they depart from such guidance, 
each problem they solve but changes the form 



374 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

of the difficulty witliout removing or diminishing it. 

Will the world never learn that man has no fore- 
sight? Must we forever follow blindly after creatures 
of like passions with ourselves, blind as they are, and 
who frighten us out of our wits by crying lo, here ! 
and lo, there ! Will we never learn that the true wis- 
dom which should guide the world in its progress ''is 
from above and cometh down from the Father of lights, 
with whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of 
turning"? Can we never understand that we all are 
brethren in ignorance, and that one is our Father, our 
Euler and our Guide — even God ? 

The world is still moving. The conflict is still raging. 
There are great problems still unsolved before us. Men 
are still planning, and organizing, and explaining, and 
predicting. The world is not scarce of leaders. Every 
leader has his plan and every plan has its party. Be- 
tween these plans and parties there are continual clash- 
ings and conflicts. Hence come wars and fightings 
among us. 

Is there no way to get the world to stop and think 
seriously over the past long enough to catch the idea 
that we are all stumbling in the dark except the Father 
of lights lead us? Will we never admit that God 
is governing and guiding the world by providence over 
men, and that every work which man can devise is under 
the providence of God, and that it will be made to praise 
Him. in the end or else it must come to naught ? 

It is not prudent to be over-sanguine of the success of 
any of the plans of men. Man is not infallible. The 
greatest men of earth have made mistakes. " Homer 
nodded." l^either is it the part of wisdom to despise 
" the day of small things." God often uses very hum- 
ble agencies to accomplish his purposes. " The wisdom 



GOD'S WISDOM AND MAN'S FOOLISHNESS. 375 

of tliis world is foolishness witli God." "He tak- 
etli the wise in their own craftiness." '' The foolishness 
of God is wiser than men." " The weakness of God is 
stronger than men." "God hath chosen the foolish 
things of the world to confound the wise " ; and " the 
weak things of the world to confound the things which 
are mighty." " Wherefore God resisteth the x^roud, but 
giveth grace unto the humble." "Submit yourselves 
therefore to God." " Stand still and see the salvation . 
of the Lord." 

"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, 
and with all thy mind; and thy neighbor as thyself." 

" On these two commandments hang all the law and 
the prophets." If men will but abide in this love, God 
will guide them to a peaceful and final solution of all 
the problems that can possibly arise in the progress of 
the world and the development and perfection of the 
human species. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 



TWO ERRORS. 

We hear much talk in these latter days about the re- 
action in public opinion against religion. There has 
been some change of that kind, I admit, but with re- 
spect to old-time religion, churches have probably 
changed more than publicans and sinners. I am not 
sure but that the churches are losing power with the 
people for the very reason that the people are not will- 
ing to follow them away from the old-time doctrine and 
practices of religion. To the extent that the indiffer- 
ence of the world to churches is a protest against the 
manifest departures of some fashionable churches from 
the spirit and genius of true Christianity, it is not bad. 
With strong faith in the providence of God, I am dis- 
posed to take a cheerful view of the world even in its 
worst phases, but with contempt for pious shams and 
religious cant, I am none too lenient toward some of 
the ways of modern fashionable churches. 

With all the talk about skepticism in these modern 
times, the Golden Rule seems to have a fairly strong 
hold upon the public mind and conscience. In a gen- 
eral way, those who have openly rebelled against the 
churches in these modern days give strong evidence of 
considerable respect for at least one of the command- 
ments on which hang all the law and the prophets — 
viz : " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." What- 
ever else may be said of the people in these degenerate 
(376) 



CHRIST AND MODERN CHURCHES. 377 

times, they are usually both ready and liberal in their 
responses to the calls for help from sufiering humanity. 
In fact it is a question whether some churches and 
church folks surpass some publicans and sinners in these 
matters. The truth is, religionists in general have per- 
haps been giving undue attention to the building up of 
showy institutions to the neglect of spiritual worship 
and Christian philanthropy in these latter days, and 
public sentiment has protested against such departures 
from the true spirit of Christianity. The people at 
large seem disinclined to spend time or money in build- 
ing institutions for outward show while, orphans are 
crying for bread and widows are shivering in the cold. 
I speak now in general terms, of course. All churches 
and religionists are not guilty of such departures from 
these features of genuine, New Testament Christianity. 
And it is to the credit of the non -church folks of this 
age that churches and professed Christians who have 
not made such departures have not lost their hold upon 
the people. All this argues that this is not the time 
in the history of the world for churches and church 
folks to devour widows' houses, and for a pretense make 
long prayers, build fine houses, hold big conventions, 
form pompous . organizations, flourish high-sounding 
titles, pass pious resolutions, build the tombs of the 
prophets and compass sea and land to make one prose- 
lyte. This practical age will have none of it. If there 
is anything the people of this enlightened age may be 
confidently relied upon to do, it is to detect fraud and 
repudiate hypocrisy in religion. 

As I understand the matter, it is not a bad sign to see 
a mere handful of religious humbugs trying to hold up 
a glittering institution and struggling to maintain a 
costly form of heartless worship, while the rank and flle 



378 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

of the people are ridiculing such trumperj^ feeding wid- 
ows and orphans and attending to their own bus- 
iness in open contempt of such hypocrisy. Skep- 
ticism among the people of the world is bad, but 
downright hypocrisy and meanness among the members 
of the churches are infinitely worse. The errors of the 
church do not excuse the sins of the world, I know, but 
the unprejudiced mind cannot fail to see in the present 
situation two evils that sadly need correction. The 
people at large have, to some extent, departed from the 
church. That is one evil in the land which ought to be 
corrected. The church in general has departed from 
the true spirit and genius of IS'ew Testament Christian- 
ity. That is another evil of these latter days which 
ought to be corrected, too. I do not speak now in 
terms of sweeping generality. All churches have not 
departed from the teachings of Christ, neither have all 
the people of the world departed from the church. But 
there are evidences of both kinds of departures, and I 
am in doubt which most needs attention. 

Such a life as Jesus lived among men when he was 
here in the flesh would not be without power now even 
with the veriest skeptics in the land. 

The religionists of this age may as well understand 
once for all that they cannot drift away from genuine 
*' Christliness "and go backto the expensive religious par- 
aphernalia and imposing ceremonies which flourished 
in the dark ages. The people of this generation will 
not be led in that direction. The church which at- 
tempts such a thing will part company with the people 
and commit suicide. This is more an evidence of good 
sense than bold infidelity in the people. Unfortunately 
the churches that have made slight experiments along 
this line have fallen out with the people for declining to 



HOW TO REACH THE MASSES. 379 

follow them, and raised a great liue and cry about the 
skepticism of modern times. And, what is still worse, 
the people have allowed themselves to heheve they are 
skeptics, sure enough, and set about defending them- 
selves as such. But I am persuaded that the people are 
not so skeptical as they suppose, after all. The spirit 
and doctrine of Christ have a much stronger hold upon 
them than they themselves suspect. Much of that 
which thev have repudiated in churches, creeds and 
church folks, Christ himself would not approve if he 
were here in the flesh. 

Christ was bv no means popular with the churches 
and church members of his generation when he was on 
earth Some churches and professed Christians of these 
modern times do not average much better than the relig- 
ionists whom He so severely denounced Biore than 
eighteen hundred years ago. And the religionists of 
those days denounced Him as bitterly as some modern 
churches denounce skeptics now. They said He was 
under the power of the prince of devils and worthy of 
death. Christ has probably not lost prestige m the world 
more than in the church in the last half century. 

We never heard religious people talking about ' how 
to reach the masses" fifty years ago. In fact we had 
not so much as heard whether there be any masses then. 
Such talk in these latter days shows that some churches 
and church folks are anxious to have it understood that 
the gulf between them and the masses is so wide that 
it is a problem which puzzles the wisest heads among 
them as to how they can reach the masses. Is ow, if 
Christ were here on the earth to-day. He would be one 
among the masses, unless He has changed wonderfully 
within the last eighteen hundred and sixty years, and 
all the talk of professed Christians about " how to 



380 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

reach the masses " is bat so much talk about how to 
reach Christ. 

I need not go further into details. The church that 
is away from the masses is away from Christ, and the 
church that is with Christ is with the masses. The de- 
parture from Christ and the people is the prime cause 
of all the formality, and coldness, and indifference, and 
proud-heartedness in the churches wdiich are guilty of 
it and suffering from it. The remedy for it all is to re- 
move the cause by coming back to Christ. 

We have not the sturdy fliith, and consuming zeal, 
and deep-toned piety in the churches now which we had 
fifty years ago. Instead thereof we have a light-heart- 
edness, and worldly-mindedness which was not so much 
as named among the saints in those days. We have not 
the spiritual power and doctrinal convictions in the pul- 
pit now which we had then, but instead of those old- 
time elements of pulpit strength we have a disposition 
to astonish and please the world by sensational sermons, 
ethical lectures, beautiful speeches and soft sayings to 
which the old-time preachers never gave place for a 
moment. There is need of a reformation in all these 
things "whereunto you do well that you take heed." 

But, after all, some of those who openly array them- 
selves against the church in these latter days are neither 
good men nor wise teachers. They have not been con- 
tent to simply enter tlieir protests against the manifest 
departures from Kew Testament Christianity. If they 
had gone no further than that, I might occupy my time 
wholly in their defense. They have openly denounced 
the whole teachings of the Bible. This is their mistake. 
They seem to forget, or perhaps they have never known, 
that the Christ of the ^ew Testament, were he here in 
the flesh to-day, would condemn the popular way of 



THE WORLD UNSEEN. 381 

doing things in some fashionable churches. They prob- 
ably do not know that they are but endorsing some of 
the clearest teachings of Christ in the very attacks they 
are making upon some features of fashionable religion 
in these latter days. I have no tears to shed, no regrets 
to express over the destruction their onslaught is mak- 
ing among the fashionable churches which have yielded 
themselves to the evil tendencies already described. Of 
all such churches I say: Cut them down, why cumber 
they the ground? 

But why should men fly in the face of all hist«)ry and 
all experience as to the power of the unseen world? 
Why attempt what no nation of savages or sages has 
ever attempted before in the history of all times and all 
peoples ? Why try to usher in the millennium by the 
destruction of all faith in the origin or destiny of men 
or worlds ? Why repudiate God and all the gods at 
once, and try to blight all the happiness of this world 
which comes by faith and hope from the world unseen? 
Why assert that everything, with man, begins with the 
birth and must end with the death of the body ? It can- 
not be that man comes from the darkness of an eternal 
past, opens his eyes in life, looks above, beneath and 
around, for a few fleeting days full of trouble and dis- 
appointment, and then drops into an endless sleep. Ah, 
the gloom of such a grave-shrouded thought ! 

Man has three natures to develop — viz : Physical, 
moral and intellectual, and shall he have but one world, 
and it very imperfectly adapted to his needs, in which 
to perfect himself? There is little provision in this 
world for the development of anything but the physical 
man, and it perishes almost as rapidly as it grows. Be- 
sides, man has no certain lease of life in this world. In 
a majority of cases even the body dies ere it matures. 



382 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

But at the very best, man can never mature as to his 
moral and intellectual natures if this life is his only 
chance. 

The things of this world address themselves largely 
to the physical man through the senses — sight, sound, 
touch, taste and smell. All this is helpful in developing 
a good specimen of physical manhood, but how do we 
develop the intellectual and emotional elements of our 
nature? To this end can we have no thoughts gendered 
by the in-tangible, the unseen, the unknowable ? Can 
we never experience any emotions that are kindled by 
persons, places, worlds, or things as yet unseen ? Must 
we be forever shut up to the things that are patent to 
the physical senses? Such an idea contradicts all facts, 
all history and the essential elements of human nature 
itself. 

No personal character has ever been developed, and 
no national life has ever been inaugurated or sustained, 
except by the help of the power which comes from the 
unseen world through faith. And without the help of 
such power, nothing but mere physical nature or ani- 
mal life can ever be fully developed. Every creature that 
rises above mere brute life in any of the faculties or el- 
ements of its nature, must draw upon the unseen world 
by faith for the support and development of all the 
higher elements of its nature. This is simply a fact, 
whether the world unseen, is, itself, fact or fiction. 
From the savages in the forest to the sages in the high- 
est places of the most civilized nations of earth, all men 
in all ages of the world, have meditated, imagined, won- 
dered and dreamed about the world unseen and the 
great hereafter. And this mental occupation has been 
both the food and the exercise by which they developed 
the faculties which raised them above the brute creation. 



THE POWER OF FAITH. 



383 



Every nation of earth has had three worlds m which 
to develop the three departments of humanity— viz : 
One world addressed to the physical senses and two 
worlds received hy faith. One is seen ; two are unseen 
In one, life and death, joy and sorrow, pleasure and 
pain, light and darkness, are mixed; In one of the 
other two, all is hfe, joy, light and gladness ; and m the 
other all is darkness, disappointment and death. Ot 
the two unseen worlds, one is for the good and pure m- 
hahitants of this ; the other for the vicious and impure. 
Every nation of earth has had its heaven for good peo- 
ple departed, and its hell for had ones deceased. Faith m 
such rewards and punishments in the great hereafter 
has heen a potent factor in the development of human 
character among all people and in all ages. History 
knows no nation that has not had its hope of heaven to 
cultivate the higher and hetter elements of human 
nature, and its fear of hell to restrain the haser passions 
of .the soul. On this one point the whole human race 
has agreed with singular unanimity, and that, too, with- 
out any consultation. It may, therefore, he accepted as 
almost axiomatic, that this world cannot offer rewards 
sufficiently desirahle to encourage man to he either 
good or great; neither can it threaten punishment se- 
vere enough to restrain men of evil passions from com- 
mitting crimes. The rewards of this life are too diffi- 
cult to ohtain, to have much influence over the masses ; 
they are too hard to retain, to he very highly esteemed 
hy many who even have a fair opportunity to secure 
them • and they are too unsatisfactory in nature to he 
very hi£.^hly appreciated hy anyhody. The punishments 
this wodd can threaten are too easily evaded and too 
light in nature, to have much^ restraining power over 
men who are given to evil passions. 



384 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

The idea that man will live again in a world as yet 
unseen, and that in that world to come his destiny will 
be determined by his moral character while here, either 
came originally by revelation of Spirit from the 
unseen world, or it originated in the inherent needs of 
human nature. But in either case, it is clearly essential 
to the full development of man's nature, and cannot be 
lightly set aside without greatly impoverishing the 
whole human race. The man who cannot meditate 
upon the dignity of his origin or the glory of his des- 
tiny is without nourishment and exercise for his high- 
est and best faculties, and will hardl}^ bless the world 
with ennobling ideas or refining sentiments. The man 
who can be content to deal exclusively with the mate- 
rial things of this dull world, and who never rises by 
faith or imagination to the contemplation of things not 
seen, is dull indeed. Nay, man can never cease to won- 
der, imagine, meditate, dream, believe and hope about 
the world unseen and the great hereafter so long as he 
is endowed with all the faculties which go to make up 
a well-balanced mind. To know nothing, think noth- 
ing, imagine nothing, believe nothing, care nothing, 
hope nothing about the great hereafter is an absolute 
impossibility except with those who lack some of the 
essential elements of a well-balanced mind. 

Men become wise, great, good or bad by the power of 
faith, hope, love or hatred moving upon their inner 
natures. Those who devote themselves to noble causes 
must have love for some definite end or object, faith in 
their ability to attain it, and hope to encourage them in 
their efforts to succeed. In deeds of evil, hatred often 
moves the soul of passions base, and nought but fear re- 
strains from crimes of deepest die, the man whose soul 
by love, faith and hope cannot be moved to nobler 



THIS WORLD AND THE WORLD TO COME. 385 

deeds. Love, fiiitli, hope and hatred, then, are motors of 
the hnnian soul, without which we would have universal 
stagnation in all departments of human endeavor. De- 
stroy all fear, and the world is without any restraining 
power over base natures ; abolish faith, love and hope, 
and the mainspring of action to all noble souls is 
broken. 

Thus far in the history of the world, the human fam- 
ily has been under the influence of an abiding faith in a 
future existence. The love, faith and hope that have 
moved mankind thus far, have pertained both to this 
life and the life which is to come, and the fear that has 
hitherto restrained the baser passions of mankind, has 
been a fear of both present and future punishment. 

It is pertinent, in this connection, to ask which of the 
two states of existence hitherto believed in by all nations 
of earth has probably exercised the greater influence 
over the world both in the way of prompting men to 
strive for good, and restraining them from giving them- 
selves over to evil. Will faith, love and hope which 
pertain to this life only exert as great an influence over 
the thoughts, feelings and actions of men, as faith, hope 
and love which include both this life and the life which 
is to come? On which life has the world hitherto 
placed the higher estimate, the one that now is, or that 
one which is to come ? To ask these questions is to an- 
swer them. Whether, therefore, the unseen world is a 
fact or a fiction, faith in it is essential to the develop- 
ment of man's entire nature, and through faith in it 
the world has made its greatest conquests. If all this 
is to be blotted out at this late day, future generations 
will be deprived of all nourishment for man's highest 
and best nature, the greatest incentives to noble ends 

will be destroyed and the most effective restraint and 
25 



386 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

safe-guard against crime will be abolished. Tlie world 
cannot afford to make so great a sacrifice, even if it 
were possible to abolish all ideas of the world unseen. 
But the very fact that such a thing has never yet been 
done by any nation of earth, strongly argues that it 
cannot be done even if it were desirable. On these two 
points, therefore, we can well afford to rest the case : (1) 
It should not be done if we could, and (2) it could not 
be done if we would. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



GOr> S PROVIDENCE OVER MOSES AND ISRAEL. 

The life of Moses and the history of the Jews furnish 
ilhistrations of the providence of God over men and na- 
tions well worthy of consideration in this connection. 

Moses could not have inherited anything from his 
parents to distinguish him as one of the world's great 
lights as a moralist, ruler, law-giver, theologian and 
military chieftain. His parents were slaves and all his 
ancestors had been in bondage the most abject and 
menial for about four hundred years. A careful reading 
of the code of laws he gave the people on assuming the 
reins of government abundantly shows that the Jews 
were morally depraved and intellectually benighted 
when he led them out of Egypt. It must have been a 
condition of licentiousness among them perfectly shock- 
ing to contemplate, which called for the enactment 
of laws against specific sins, the very name of 
which is an offense to ears polite. From such an an- 
cestry he could not have inherited, by nature, the en- 
nobling traits of character which so eminently distin- 
guish him among men. Abject slavery of their ances- 
tors for four hundred years, was a poor training to 
qualify his parents to give birth to the distinguished 
ruler, law-giver and military chieftain he proved him- 
self to be. In religion, the Egyptains were grossly idol- 
atrous and shamefully immoral and licentious. Four 

hundred years of oppressive bondage to such masters, 

(387) 



388 SEVENTY YEARS IX DIXIE. 

was a poor ancestral record for a clistinguislied moralist 
and theologian. 

Moses Avas brouglit up in the family of Egypt's king 
and, at the very best, he could have had no educational 
advantages in boyhood and early manhood, so far as 
human instruction was concerned, save such as the 
reigning sovereign of Egypt could provide for him. 

When he was about forty years old he fled from 
Egypt as a murderer, and for forty years thereafter, spent 
all his time in lonely isolation from the world, watching 
Jethro's flocks in the mountains. Up to the time he 
left Egypt, he seems to have done nothing worthy of 
note save the one bloody deed for which he fled the 
country, and after forty years spent in isolated solitude, 
he left Jethro's flocks in the mountains, to lead Abra- 
ham's seed out of Egypt. 

When the Jews left Egypt, they numbered over six 
hundred thousand men, able to go forth to war, from 
twenty years old and upward. The whole number of 
Jews led out of Egypt by Moses could not, therefore, 
have been less than three millions. 

This man Moses, then, delivered three millions of 
people from a bondage of hundreds of years. When he 
led them out of Egypt he was pursued by the king's 
army and confronted with formidable and almost innu- 
merable difficulties. He at once entered a wilderness 
filled with deadly vipers, surrounded by hostile nations, 
reeking with the elements of disease and death and 
poorly supplied with food, water or raiment for his 
people. 

Just delivered from a l)ondage which had oppressed 
them for centuries, as a nation, these three million peo- 
ple were ignorant of science, art, literature and military 
tactics. They were wholly undisciplined as soldiers or 



MOSES AS A LA W- GIVER. 389 

citizens, and ntterly lacking in everything wbicli goes 
to qualify a people for independence and self-govern- 
ment as a nation. They were rebellious as citizens, 
riotous as an army, corrupt as a people and idolatrous 
in religion. They were continually at war with hostile 
nations, plagues and pestilences often raged among them, 
they were bitten by deadly vipers, harassed by famine, 
weary of wandering and tired of existence. ^ They mur- 
mured against Moses and openly attempted insurrection. 
Yet Mosee held the reins of government over them with 
a firm hand for forty years. He disciplined them as an 
army, organized them as a government, purified them, 
morally, as individuals and instructed them in religion, 
as a nation. He gave them a code of laws and a system 
of religion which they have honored and followed indi- 
vidually and as a nation for more than three thousand 
years without change or emendation. As to morality, 
those laws are still respected by the civilized nations of 
earth, and they have received the high endorsement 
of the Son of God himself. All this v/as no ordinary 
achievement for Moses. It may well be doubted 
whether, under all the circumstances, any man could 
have done all these things except God had been with 
him. Ko wonder Moses made mistakes ! The wonder 
is that he ever succeeded at all. To believe he could 
have done all this without the help of spiritual guidance 
and divine providence is a stretch of credulity infinitely 
greater than to believe in the miraculous and the world 
unseen. !N'o wonder the name of Moses has been a 
household word in all the world for more than three 
thousand years! ^o wonder it has floated on the 
wings of the winds and has ridden on the ocean's waves 
as far as the sun of civilization has shed rays of light on 
a world lying in darkness. 



390 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

Moses left an imprint of morality upon the whole 
Jewish nation which contact with the vices of every na- 
tion under heaven for more than three thousand years 
has not heen sufficient to erase. He found the people of 
Israel in bondage in Egypt, morally depraved and intel- 
lectually benighted. He led them out of the land of God's 
curse, and established them as one of the purest, most 
intelligent and thrifty of the nations of earth. Is there 
nothing worthy of note in all this? Is it an ordinary 
thing for an ignorant son of slave parents to rise up 
and, without previous training for a work so great, lead 
three millions of slaves out of the land of their bondage 
openly, defiantly and in the very face of the king's 
army, discipline them, govern them, sustain them in a 
howling wilderness and lay the foundation for a power- 
ful nation to be perpetuated down the ages for three 
thousand years? Why does not some man, who talks 
so flippantly about the mistakes of Moses, lead the ne- 
groes of the United States out of their difficulties now, 
and at once solve the race problem by establishing them 
somewhere as a mighty and prosperous nation? Why 
not? Ah, the wisdom and the power to solve such 
problems are not in man save as he is guided by spirit- 
ual light from an unseen world, or over-ruled by that 
Divine Providence which makes all things work to- 
gether for good to those who love the Lord. Why did 
not somebod}^ solve Israel's race problem three hundred 
years before Moses was born? There is but one way to 
answer. Man, of himself, solves no questions of this kind, 
and God, in his inscrutable wisdom did not see proper 
to solve it till the time when Moses was chosen as the 
agent through whom to accomplish a work so marvel- 
ous. Whence came such astounding success to Moses 
in every department of his great life-work ? Are there 



MOSES AS A MILITARY CHIEFTAIN. 391 

no evidences of super-human wisdom, spiritual guid- 
ance and divine providence in all he did? Could he 
have done it himself? If he provided for his army and 
all the nation for forty years in the wilderness, whence 
came his supplies? If he planned the campaign and 
the many successful battles fought and glorious victories 
won himself, whence came the power and wisdom by 
which he overcame such vast armies and selected the 
strategic positions with such consummate skill? 
Whence derived he the military intuitions which 
enabled him to marshal his warrior hosts with such un- 
erring certainty as never to lose a battle in a forty year's 
campaign? Ah, be not deceived. The wisdom and 
power of God were with him. 

The military career of this remarkable man is not 
more marvelous than his moral intuitions as a law-giver. 
For more than eighteen hundred years the Jews, dis- 
persed as a nation, have wandered among the nations of 
earth, and yet they cling tenaciously to the laws which 
Moses gave, and which have not been changed or mod- 
ified in the slightest particular for more than three 
thousand years. Fathers have taught them to their 
sons and mothers to their daughters, and they have 
been recognized as a perfect standard and code of mor- 
ality by the most intelligent nations of the world among 
whom the Jews have wandered in every age. These 
laws have preserved the Jews as a peculiar people 
amidst all the revolutions and mutations of the ages 
since God spake to Moses in the cloud on Sinai's smok- 
ing summit. That law to-day has a greater influence 
over the moral character of the world than all the other 
laws written by the wise men in every age of the world. 
It has been endorsed by the Son of God himself, and it 
is to-day taught to every child of Jewish or Christian 



392 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

parents as the perfect standard and highest authority in 
morality. The law of Moses has elevated the Jewish 
race to an enviable position among the peoples of earth. 
How many Jews are found loafing in idleness about 
saloons and other places of vice to-day? How many 
Jews are found on the streets of our cities or highways 
of our country as beggars, tramps or vagabonds ? How 
many Jcavs are professional gamblers or habitual drunk- 
ards ? How many Jews are indicted for crimes in our 
courts? How many are hung or incarcerated in jails or 
penitentiaries for violations of the law? How many 
Jewish women lead lives of open shame ? How many 
Jews commit suicide, maltreat their wives and children, 
sue for divorce or openly and habitually commit forni- 
cation ? In the city of ]S"ew York, where there are per- 
haps more Jews in proportion to Gentiles than in any 
other city in the United States, only one per cent, of 
the cases in the criminal courts are against Jews and 
those cases are usually for minor oifences. The moral 
code of Moses has thus elevated the whole Jewish na- 
tion, and has greatly influenced the morals of every 
other nation under heaven for more than three thousand 
years, and will continue to wield its mighty power over 
the human race till time itself shall grow old and die. 
Are there no evidences of spiritual guidance and divine 
providence in all this? Must we believe that the un- 
parallelled moral intuitions which prompted this won- 
derful law were but the ordinary endowments of an 
ignorant son of degraded slaves, born and reared in the 
most licentious age of the world ? 

Some of the greatest common-law writers ot the civi- 
lized world distinctly admit that the criminal hiws of 
the most civilized nations of earth to-day are based 
upon the criminal laws given by Moses to govern the 



MOSES YET LIVES. 393 

Jews more than three thousand years ago. Moses, 
therefore, towers above the law-givers of the whole 
w^orld as the author of a code of criminal laws which the 
wisdom of all the nations of earth have not been able to 
improve in three thousand years and more. Moses, to- 
day, controls more minds and hearts by the majesty of 
his laws and the greatness of his wisdom, than any and 
all other men, the Son of God himself excepted, who 
have ever lived on the earth. Moses goes into the halls 
of Congress, the chambers of State legislatures, on the 
thrones of kings, on the seats of magistrates and judges 
and into the jury boxes. He sits by the judge who 
charges the jury, presides over the oihcer who adminis- 
ters an oath and stands by every witness who testifies 
in our courts. Most emphatically, " he, being dead, yet 
speaketh." When the Chief Justice of the United 
States delivered the opinion of the highest tribunal in 
the greatest nation under the heavens, in a celebrated 
case not long since, he only reiterated what Moses said 
more than three thousand years ago. True, the court 
based its opinion upon a certain clause in the Constitu- 
tion of the United States. But how^ came that clause 
in the Constitution? Whence did it come? From 
Moses. And had it not been incorporated from Moses 
into the Constitution, it is probable that the Constitu- 
tion itself would never have been adopted, and that 
there would, therefore, never have been any United 
States of America. Whence came the wisdom of these 
wonderful laws? Surely Moses must have been 
specially endowed for his great life-work. All th^ facts 
of his life and the record of his ancestry preclude the 
idea that such wisdom as he possessed could have de- 
scended to him by inheritance, or have been imparted 
to him by human instruction. 



394 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

The evidences of God's providence over the nation 
of the Jews are as clear as the proof of spiritual guidance 
in Moses. During four hundred years of abject slavery 
and menial bondage in Egypt, the eyes of the Lord were 
over the Jews and his ears w^ere open unto their cries. 
The strong arms of the everlasting God were about 
them, and human powder to afflict and injure them was 
limited and over-ruled by the immutable purposes of 
the eternal Intelligence who rules the world and gov- 
erns the universe. Israel's sins as a nation in the past 
had created a complex problem in their affairs which 
could only be solved through a period of four hundred 
years of oppressive slavery. It was not the pleasure of 
.God, but the needs of the people, on which Israel's 
bondage in Egypt was based. The problem to be 
solved was of national proportions and the solution 
could not be based upon individual interests. The de- 
sign of the slavery in Egypt was clearly a national edu- 
cation and not personal punishment. It served to 
prevent amalgamation between the Jews and surround- 
ing heathen nations, and to keep the blood of Abra- 
ham's seed pure till the purposes of God could be ac- 
complished in establishing them as a self-governing na- 
tion in the land promised to them through Abraham in 
the centuries long gone by. In Egyptain bondage they 
could not intermarry with other people, and in a slav- 
ery of four hundred years they learned a lesson of 
humility which increased their faith in the jjower 
and providence of God and decreased their confidence 
in the wisdom and goodness of man. 

A careful study of the history of this peculiar people 
may serve to lift the clouds of gloom from sorrow-bur- 
dened hearts, and teach the world of despondent doubt- 
ers that the hand of God is often concealed in the great- 



JE WISH SLA VER Y. 395 

est troubles of life. "Afflictions, though they seem 
severe, are oft in mercy sent." God's ways are wiser 
than man's. We often need the education of severe 
sorrows and grievous misfortunes, as individuals and as 
nations. 

There was a time when faithful Ahraham stood al- 
most alone, as the friend of God, in the midst of a 
crooked and perverse generation. God had respect 
unto this man of marvelous faith, and purposed good 
things for his descendants in the ages to come. !N"ever 
ft)r one moment did that good purpose of God vary 
toward Abraham's seed. It was a Father's tender hand 
that led them through centuries of slavery in Egypt, 
and a Father's loving voice that called them out of 
bondage by Moses. It was a dark way for a God of 
love to lead the people of his promise, but it was the 
only way to the blessings he had in store for 
them. The wickedness of Israel had reached a point 
from which the only escape was through the dark ways 
of oppressive slavery and national humiliation. Still, 
God did not forget them. He respected their free 
agency, but by providence over-ruled all their wicked- 
ness and accomplished his purposes in them at last. 

Through all the centuries God has been fulfilling the 
predictions of his inspired prophets and working out 
the plans of his own mind concerning this peculiar peo- 
ple. He was with them in Egypt ; he guided them in 
the wilderness; he blessed them in Palestine; he dis- 
persed them from Jerusalem; and he has watched over 
them in tlieir weary wanderings among all the nations 
of the earth for more than eighteen hundred years. 
Thrones have crumbled; governments have fallen; 
nations have perished ; empires have disappeared; and 
mighty revolutions have swept over the earth ; but the 



396 SEVENTY YEAES IN DIXIE. 

Jews still remain. There is no power that can defeat 
tlie purposes of God concerning these wandering rem- 
nants of a once powerful nation. 

And can it be possible that the providence of God is 
over the Jews while all other peoples and nations of 
earth are as nothing in his sight ? Could God exercise 
a constant providence over the Jews as they are now 
dispersed among all the nations of the earth, and yet 
have no eyes to see, no ears to hear and no power to 
over-rule the nations among which they w^ander? Is 
the providence of God over the Jew who sleeps by my 
side at night, and yet not over me ? Does God solve all 
the race-problems for the Jews, and yet give no atten- 
tion to the race-problems of the nations of earth among 
which they are wandering ? Why should he curse them, 
bless them, protect them and guide them, as a people, 
and yet leave all other nations and peoples of earth with- 
out providential supervision ? Ah, the deception of 
such a thought ! The providence of the eternal God is 
continually over us all. He leaves us free to exercise 
our wills and lay our plans ; but He over-rules all our 
purposes and shapes the ends of all our schemes. He 
has not vacated the throne as the world's sovereign. 
He makes even the wickedness of men to praise him. 
Wherever we go, whatever we do, the eyes that never 
sleep are over us and the arm that never trembles is 
around us. What God would bring to nought we have 
no power to prosper, and what he would prosper we are 
too w^eak to hinder. We may lay our plans, and arrange 
our schemes, and build our theories; but above us and 
around us and under us there is a power which shapes 
our ends and determines our destiny. Every plant 
which the hand of this mighty God has not i)lanted 
shall be rooted up, and every purpose which he does not 



MAN'S WICKEDNESS AND GOD'S GLORY 



397 



approve shall be finally over-ruled to Ins glory. In 
this fiuth I confidently rest. The wickedness ot man 
may be great in the earth, but the power and providence 
of God are over us all. The hand of our God is on the 
helm, and the soul which trusts in him shall never be 
moved. The eyes that watch us are never closed and 
the ears that hear us are never stopped. The power 
that o-uards us can never fail and the Spirit which leads 
us can never die. In sorrows God will not forget us 
and in death he will not forsake us. He is the first and 
the last, the alpha and the omef,a the beginning and the 
end AVe are complete in him, but without him we can 
do nothing. He is our wisdom, our strength our life, 
our all He will solve all our difiiculties, supply all our 
wants, heal all our wounds, and guide us all the way. 
Man's whole duty and only safety are to follow Ins 
o-uidanceand keep his commandments. Though lie 
should lead us through dark ways _ and over thorny 
paths, we should not falter in our taith or murmur at 
our lot. He has led others in similar ways to joys un- 
fading, and why may not his purposes concerning us 
often lie through evil as well as good report ? W e can- 
not fathom his wisdom ; we know not his purposes; we 
can only trust him. It is enough for us to know 
that all things work together for good to those 
who love the^ Lord. Nation may rise up against 
nation; wars and rumors of wars may come; famines 
may prevail and pestilences may rage ; human wisdom 
may fail and the powers of darkness may rule the world 
in sin for a season ; but no harm can come to the sou 
which walks by faith in the Father of lights Blessed 
is the man who can say the Lord is « always before my 
face;" he is forever «on my right hand, that 1 should 
not be moved." "Let us hear the conclusion ot the 



398 SEVENTY YEARS IN DIXIE. 

whole matter : Fear God, and keep liis commandments; 
for tins is the whole duty of man. For God shall bring 
every work into judgment, with every secret thing, 
whether it be good, or whether it be evil." *' Therefore 
let the heathen rage, and the people imagine vain 
things, " " for if you do these things, you shall never 
fall." 



A FEW WORDS OF EXPLANATION. 

I have now finished the story of "Seventy Years in Dixie." In 
looking over it, I am puzzled myself to identify all of the ideas and 
sayings of Mr. Caskey. As to matters of doctrine, I have woven my 
own faith into the book far more liberally than I at first intended. 
Still, I thought best to put it as though Mr. Caskey was saying it all. 
This seemed necessary to preserve the literary unity and harmony of 
the book. Moreover, this plan was agreed upon between Mr. Caskey 
and myself, and hence does no injustice to any one. Still, this pe- 
culiarity of the book must be remembered, or readers who know Mr. 
Caskey and who have often heard him preach and lecture, will not 
be able, perhaps, to reconcile certain passages touching doctrinal 
matters with his public and private utterances. 

As to statements of fact, there are also many things in the book 
which seem to be parts of Mr. Caskey's personal experience, but 
which he himself will know nothing of till he sees them in these 
pages. Some of them are taken from my own experience and some 
of them from the experiences of others. I put them in because I 
knew them to be true, and because they seemed necessary to 
fill out the story of home life in Dixie. 

I have put in no statement of fact that is not well authenticated. 
But the greater part of the book will be recognized by all who have 
an intimate personal acquaintance with :Mr. Caskey, as simply a re- 
production of his quaint sayings and a rather imperfect description 
of his remarkable experi«ice. 

In the main, the story is told in my own words, but I have pre- 
served his peculiar style to the utmost of my ability, and in some 
places I have given whole pages in almost his exact words ^^^ 



400 A FEW WORDS OF EXPLANATION. 

And now a word as to how I remembered it all. Well, I did not re- 
member it at all. For several years I have made it a habit to write down 
what I considered strange, peculiar or interesting extracts from pri- 
vate conversations and public addresses while they were fresh in my 
mind. In this way, and not by memory, did I preserve many of the 
passages in this book from the lips of Mr. Caskey and others. Other 
passages I gathered from private letters, and still others I got from 
manuscripts which at my request he wrote, before I began the 
work of arranging the matter for these pages. 

With these explanations, I submit the work to a discriminating 
public. r. D. Srygley. 

Nashville, Tenn., March 1, 1891. 



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